BOY  OF  MY  HEART 


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BOY  OF   MY  HEART 


HODDER  AND   STOUGHTON 

LONDON    NEW  YOKE    TORONTO 
MCMXVI 


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w 


t^ 


.k> 


TO 
"LITTLE   YEOGH   WOUGH 


363580 


A  FOREWORD 

rriHE  Publishers  wish  to  state  that  this  is  a  book 
of  absolute  fact — not  a  work  of  fiction.  From 
cover  to  cover  it  is  the  truth,  and  the  truth  only — 
a  record  exact  and  faithful,  both  in  large  things 
and  in  small,  of  the  short  years  of  a  boy  who 
willingly  and  even  joyously  gave  up  his  life 
and  all  its  brilliant  promise  for  the  sake  of  his 
country. 

Even  the  tragic  coincidence  of  the  news  of  his 
death  reaching  his  home  in  the  very  hour  in  which 
he  himself  was  expected  there  on  leave,  is  what 
actually  occurred. 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 


CHAPTER  I 

PACK 

Waiting  .  .  .  .  .15 


CHAPTER  II 
The  Extravagant  Baby  .  .26 

CHAPTER  III 
The  First  Steps  of  the  Little  Feet  .       35 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  Boy's  Treasures  and  other  Things     .       46 

CHAPTER  V 
Good  Days  and  Good-Nights  ,  .       64 

CHAPTER  VI 

Passing  Shadows         .  .  .  .82 

CHAPTER  VII 
A  Motto  to  Steer  By  .  .  .100 


10  CONTENTS 

PART  II 
THE  TWO  GERMAN  GIFTS 

CHAPTER  VIII 

PAOB 

The  First  German  Gift — A  Rose      .  .111 

CHAPTER  IX 
The  Way  of  a  Brother         .  .  .124 

CHAPTER  X 

The  Feeding  of  Love  .  .  .132 

CHAPTER  XI 
The  Anger  of  Love    ....     148 

CHAPTER  XII 

In  the  Danger  Zone  .  .  .  .157 

CHAPTER   XIII 
The  Second  German  Gift      .  .  .194 


PATRIOTISM 

*'  It  is  not  a  song  in  the  street,  and  a  wreath  on  a 
column,  and  a  flag  flying  from  a  window  and  a  pro- 
Boer  under  a  pump.  It  is  a  thing  very  holy  and 
very  terrible,  like  life  itself.  It  is  a  burden  to  be 
borne ;  a  thing  to  labour  for  and  to  suffer  for  and 
to  die  for  ;  a  thing  which  gives  no  happiness  and 
no  pleasantness  .  .  .  but  a  hard  life,  an  unknown 
grave,  and  the  respect  and  bared  heads  of  those 
who  follow." — John  Masefield. 

(Quotation  found  written  in  a  notebook  in  the 
pocket  of  "  Little  Yeogh  Wough "  when  he 
received  his  death  wound,  Dec.  23rd,  1915.) 


PART   I 


»v 


CHAPTER  I 

WAITING 

IT  is  half-past  nine  o'clock  at  night  and  I,  an 
eager-hearted  woman,  sit  waiting  still  for  dinner, 
with  a  letter  open  before  me  from  my  son  in  the 
fighting  line.  It  is  addressed  to  me  in  his  pet 
name  for  me : — 

France,  10.12.15. 

Dearest  Big  Yeogh  Wough, — 

I  feel  very  distressed  about  a  sentence  in 
a  letter  of  Vera's  that  arrived  a  few  minutes  ago. 
I  have  been  away  from  my  battalion  for  nearly 
ten  days  now,  and  in  consequence  all  my  corre- 
spondence is  waiting  for  me  there  and  cannot  be 
sent  on  because  they  don't  know  where  I  am  pre- 
cisely, and  couldn't  very  well  send  over  here  if 
they  did.    The  letter  that  came  this  evening  was 

addressed:   "Attached  1st Light  Infantry," 

and  must  have  been  sent  on  the  chance  of  reaching 
me.  In  it  Vera  says  that  you  seem  changed  since 
she  saw  you  last — rather  anxious,  and  worn,  and 
very  tired.  1  am  quite  at  sea  as  to  when  and  how 
she  saw  you,  but  gather  from  the  context  that  she 
must  have  been  down  to  Sunny  Cliff.  Is  this  so  ? 
But  I  do  hope  that  you  are  not  "  rather  anxious 

15 


16  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

and  worn  and  very  tired."  It  troubles  me  muchly. 
Qu'est  ce  qu'il  y  a  ?  Is  it  finances  and  family 
navigation  ;  or  working  too  hard  ;  or  myself ; 
or  what  ?  Please  do  tell  me.  Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  ? 

I  seem  to  be  very  much  cut  off  from  everything 
and  everybody  just  lately.  Sometimes  I  rather 
exult  in  it ;  sometimes  I  wonder  how  much  of  the 
old  Roland  is  left.  I  have  learnt  much  ;  I  have 
gained  much  ;  I  have  grown  up  suddenly  ;  I  have 
got  to  know  the  ways  of  the  world.  But  there  is 
a  poem  of  Verlaine's  that  I  remember  sometimes  : 

"  O,  qu'as  tu  fait,  toi  que  voil^, 
Pleurant  sans  cesse  ? 
Dis,  qu'as  tu  fait,  toi  que  voili. 
Do  ta  jeunosse  ?  " 

As  I  told  you  last  week,  I  hope  to  be  coming 
over  again  to  see  you  soon — quite  soon,  in  fact. 
Those   words    of   Vera's,  though,  have   troubled 
me  much. 
Meanwhile, 
Very  much  love  to  Father  and  The  Bystander, 
Always  your  devoted, 

L.  Y.  W. 
P.S.  (a  day  later). — Have  got  leave  from  the 
24th  to  the  31st.    Shall  land  on  the  25th. 

Such  a  very  wistful  letter  !  It  is  the  saddest, 
I  think,  that  I  have  ever  had  from  him.  But,  oh  ! 
wh^t  the  postscript  means  to  me  ! 


WAITING  17 

Land  on  the  25th  ! 

Our  home — this  house  in  which  I  am  waiting — 
is  very  near  the  coast.  It  is  not  exactly  at  the 
spot  where  he  must  land,  but  it  ought  not  to  take 
him  more  than  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half  to 
get  here.  And  yet  it  is  half -past  nine  at  night  on 
the  25th,  and  I  and  the  dinner  are  still  waiting ! 

There  are  others  waiting,  too.  They  sat  in  this 
room  with  me  at  first,  but  they  got  restless  and  now 
they  are  in  different  parts  of  the  house,  trying  to 
do  other  things  while  they  wait. 

It  is  so  useless  trying  to  do  other  things  when 
one  waits  for  a  really  important  thing  to  happen  ! 

I  am  restless,  too,  but  somehow  my  spirit's 
restlessness  takes  the  form  of  a  deadly  bodily 
stillness.  All  of  me  is  waiting  under  a  spell  of 
suspense,  and  I  feel  that  if  I  make  the  slightest 
movement  I  may  break  the  spell. 

It  is  my  darling  boy  that  I  am  waiting  for. 

There  are  girls  who  may  think  that  it  is  not 
romantic  waiting  for  a  son  ;  not  so  romantic,  any- 
how, as  waiting  for  a  lover.  But  I  know  they  are 
wrong.  They  have  ideas,  no  doubt,  of  a  grey- 
haired  woman  with  a  mob  cap  on  and  a  figure 
stout  to  shapelessness,  so  that  she  has  to  sit  in  an 
attitude  of  extremest  inelegance,  with  skirts  of 
appalling  ampleness  and  shapeless  feet  on  a  has- 
sock ;  but  all  mothers  are  not  like  this,  though  a 
great  many  very  good,  dear  ones  are.  This  is  the 
sort  that  knows  best  how  the  boy's  flannels  are 


18  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

wearing  and  what  state  his  socks  are  in.  But  there 
is  another  sort  that  knows  a  little  less  about  his 
flannels,  perhaps,  and  a  little  less  about  his  socks, 
but  a  good  deal  more  about  his  mind  and  soul ; 
and  of  these  latter  are  the  mothers  to  whom  the 
grown-up  boys  whom  once  they  knew  as  little 
babies  are  not  sons  only,  but  friends,  comrades, 
and,  in  a  certain  sense,  adoring  lovers. 

Twenty  years  old !  How  amazing  to  think 
that  the  boy  I  am  waiting  for  is  twenty  !  Of 
course,  every  woman  with  a  twenty-year-old  son 
says  it  doesn't  seem  more  than  a  year  or  two  since 
he  was  born.  But  it  really  is  true,  and  is  not  said 
from  any  affectation.  It  only  seems  a  very  little 
while  since  my  Little  Yeogh  Wough — as  he  calls 
himself — came  into  the  world.  I  remember,  soon 
after  he  was  born,  going  to  see  a  woman  friend 
with  a  seven-year-old  boy,  and  actually  letting  her 
see  in  my  silly  pride  of  juvenility  that  I  thought 
her  so  old  because  her  boy  was  seven ;  and  now  my 
boy,  that  I  am  waiting  for  here  to-night,  is  twenty 
— and  yet  I  do  not  feel  myself  old. 

How  the  years  glide  by  ! 

But,  after  all,  though  twenty  years  seems  such 
a  very  long  time,  yet  it  is  not  much  if  you  divide 
it  into  four  spaces  of  five  years.  Five  years  are 
nothing.  They  go  in  a  flash.  Well,  one  only  has 
to  have  four  of  those  flashes  and  there  are  twenty 
years  gone — and  a  baby  has  grown  up  to  be  a 
man. 


WAITING  19 

And  such  a  man,  too — in  the  case  of  this  boy 
that  I  and  a  spoiling  meal  are  waiting  for ! 

Iidon't  suppose  any  two  women  in  the  world  would 
agree  exactly  as  to  what  good  points  of  body  and  mind 
go  to  make  up  the  ideal  man  ;  and  then,  too,  there 
are  thousands  of  sensible  people  who  believe  that 
a  mother  can  never  see  her  children  in  a  true  light 
and  with  a  clear  eye.  But  where  I  am  concerned 
their  belief  is  wrong.  I  am  not  a  born  worshipper 
of  my  own  kin,  and  if  one  of  my  children  had  a 
hare-lip,  I  think  it  would  seem  to  me  rather  a 
worse  hare-lip  than  anybody  else's.  So,  when  I 
say  that  the  boy  I  am  expecting  is  handsome  and 
attractive,  I  am  telling  the  truth.  He  has  that 
best  of  all  gifts — personality. 

Personality  is  a  wonderful  thing.  It  is  worth 
so  much  more  than  mere  beauty.  Every  woman 
that  lives  knows  how,  once  or  twice  in  her  life,  at 
least — perhaps  quite  casually  in  the  street — she  has 
seen  a  man  of  whom  she  has  instantly  felt  that  the 
woman  who  belongs  to  him  is  very  lucky.  The 
man  may  not  have  been  very  handsome,  and  he 
may  have  been  impecunious  looking  and  badly 
dressed,  but  there  was  something  about  him  which 
marked  him  out  as  a  Man,  with  a  capital  M,  as 
distinct  from  the  mere  empty  shells  of  masculinity 
that  walk  about  among  us  and  have  no  power  to 
thrill.  I  have  always  called  this  peculiar  and 
rare  quality  in  a  man  the  "  dignity  of  the  watch 
chain." 


20  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

People  have  laughed  at  me  and  have  not  under- 
stood ;   and  so  perhaps  I  had  better  try  to  explain. 

It  has  nothing  to  do  with  watch  chains.  In 
fact,  a  man  with  anything  much  in  the  way  of  a 
watch  chain  cannot  very  easily  have  it.  Of  course, 
it  never  goes  with  vulgarity.  I  only  mention 
watch  chain  at  all  in  connection  with  it  because 
there  is  always  a  certain  dignity  about  the  chest 
of  the  man  who  has  got  it.  Athletics  will  not  give 
it,  and  yet  there  is  something  about  the  set  of  the 
shoulders  and  the  build  of  the  breast  of  a  man 
with  personality  that  makes  a  woman  feel  that  his 
arms  would  shelter  her  better  than  any  other  arms 
in  the  world,  and  that  to  be  the  chosen  love  of 
such  a  Man  would  be  the  greatest  honour  and 
delight  that  life  could  give. 

My  Yeogh  Wough  has  got  this  charm.  I  can't 
describe  it  exactly,  but  I  know  at  half  a  mile's  dis- 
tance when  a  man  has  got  it.  I  know  directly  I  go 
into  a  church  if  any  man  of  the  congregation  has  it. 
And  he,  my  boy,  had  it  from  the  time  when  he  was 
a  few  months  old — as  was  testified  to  by  the  fact 
that  a  millionaire's  wife  who  hated  children  asked 
that  he  might  be  allowed  to  be  downstairs  when 
she  was  calling  on  me,  because,  she  said  : 

"  He's  beautiful.  He's  not  like  an  ordinary  child. 
There's  something  about  him  that  draws  me." 

That  seems  only  to  have  happened  about  a  year 
ago,  too.  And  now  that  millionaire's  wife  is  a 
peeress  and  my  Yeogh  Wough  is  just  twenty,  is 


WAITING  21 

a  lieutenant  and  an  adjutant,  and  is  coming  home 
to-day  on  six  days*  leave  ! 

To-day  ?  The  day  is  already  gone.  It  must  be 
a  quarter  to  ten  by  now  and  I  dare  not  think  of 
what  the  dinner  must  be  like,  or  the  cook's  temper. 
If  she  hadn't  known  him  and  worshipped  him  ever 
since  he  was  little,  she  would  be  in  an  unmanage- 
able rage.  I  am  beginning  almost  to  be  a  little 
anxious,  because  this  is  his  second  leave  and  I  am 
a  believer  in  Compensation.  In  this  world  one 
never  gets  a  good  thing  twice  and  the  bolts  of  fate 
always  fall  from  the  bluest  skies. 

But  I  will  shut  these  gleams  of  fear  away  from 
me.  The  room  door  will  be  pushed  open  presently 
and  he  will  come  in  with  his  gay,  firm  step  and  his 
charming  smile. 

His  smile  has  always  had  something  surprising 
about  it,  because  his  eyes  are  so  sad. 

My  Yeogh  Wough  ! 

It  suddenly  occurs  to  me  that  Yeogh  Wough  is 
a  very  odd  name  and  must  strike  outsiders  as  very 
ugly.  It  has  even  something  Chinese  about  it. 
His  real  name  is  Roland,  and  when  he  was  very 
little  and  the  pronouncing  of  an  "  r  "  was  beyond 
him,  he  called  himself  Yoland  and  then  Yo-Yo, 
and  so  it  came  to  Yeogh  Wough. 

It  certainly  does  look  very  ugly  and  Chinese. 
I  am  sorry  for  that,  because  he  not  only  made  it 
my  name  for  him,  but  his  name  for  me,  too.  I  am 
Big    Yeogh    Wough,    and    he    is    Little    Yeogh 


22  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Wough.  It  is  laughable  that  he  should  be  the 
little  one,  because  he  is  much  bigger  than  I  am 
now,  having  grown  to  close  upon  six  feet  in  height ; 
but  he  still  signs  his  letters  "  Little  Yeogh  Wough,'* 
and  he  says  he  always  will,  as  long  as  we  are  both 
alive. 

The  initials  L.Y.W.  are  at  the  foot  of  this 
message  that  I  am  looking  at  now,  saying  that  he 
is  coming  home. 

I  am  getting  very  hungry,  but  I  will  not  begin 
dinner  without  him.  He  is  bound  to  come  within 
the  next  half-hour.  I  have  worked  out  the  trains 
with  the  utmost  completeness  dozens  of  times 
to-day.    So  has  his  father.    So  has  his  sister. 

I  will  get  his  photograph  down  from  the  top  of 
the  cabinet  and  look  at  it.  It  will  help  me  to  get 
through  the  last  few  minutes — or  perhaps  half  an 
hour — of  waiting. 

As  I  take  down  the  photograph  I  knock  off 
accidentally  from  the  cabinet  top  a  tiny  news- 
paper cutting  which  I  had  put  there  in  order  that 
I  might  not  forget  it.  It  is  only  a  cutting  from  a 
review  of  a  book,  which  I  have  saved  because  of 
two  lines  quoted  in  it : — 

"  He  needs  not  any  hearse  to  bear  him  hence 
Who  goes  to  join  the  men  of  Agincourt." 

I  believe  the  lines  are  by  anephewof  Mr.Asquith's. 
Anyhow,  whoever  wrote  them,  they  have  haunted 
me  ever  since  I  saw  them  two  days  ago. 


WAITING  28 

To  join  the  men  of  Agincourt !  What  a  glorious 
thing  !  When  I  was  a  Uttle  girl  and  learned  first 
about  Agincourt  I  used  to  thrill.  Now  it  is  the 
same.  I  felt  suddenly  an  intense  longing  to  go 
out  myself  and  do  something  hard  and  fierce  and 
dangerous.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  so  well  that  the  man 
who  dies  in  a  trench  or  in  a  charge  and  who  lies 
unburied  or  gets  hurriedly  laid  away  under  two 
feet  of  casual  earth,  is  grander  and  more  princely 
than  the  king  who  dies  in  a  stately  bed  in  his  palace 
and  is  carried  to  his  tomb  between  packed  throngs, 
standing  with  bared  heads !  In  very  deed  he  vleeds 
no  hearse  who  goes  to  join  the  men  of  Agincourt. 
But  let  it  not  be  my  Yeogh  Wough !  Not  yet  I 
Not  yet ! 

But  what  am  I  thinking  of  ?  I  am  not  afraid 
for  him.  He  will  be  coming  into  this  room  in  a 
moment,  looking  into  my  eyes  with  his  wonderful 
brown  velvet  eyes  that  have  always  been  so 
amazingly  sad,  considering  the  gaiety  of  his  laugh, 
and  of  all  his  ways. 

No,  death  will  not  come  to  him — not  in  this 
war.  I  was  afraid  at  first — I  buried  my  face  in  my 
pillow  and  sobbed  when  at  eight  o'clock  one  morn- 
ing the  telegram  came  from  Folkestone  announcing 
that  he  was  just  going  to  cross  the  Channel — but 
now  I  have  got  confidence  in  fate.  He  was  once  taken 
by  one  of  our  friends  to  an  astrologer  who  told  him 
that  he  would  probably  become  a  soldier,  and  that  if 
he  did  he  would  die  a  violent  death  by  bullet  or 


24  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

bomb,  but  not  before  he  was  fifty-eight.  So  ^xc 
cannot  die  now,  at  only  just  twenty.  He  will  get 
wounded;  it  is  certainly  time  he  got  wounded, 
for  he  has  been  in  the  trenches  nine  months  now 
and  people  are  beginning  to  look  surprised  when  I 
tell  them  he  has  not  got  a  scratch  yet.  They  will 
soon  begin  to  think  he  hides  all  day  in  his  dug- 
out. Yes,  he  is  certain  to  get  wounded  soon.  But 
he  will  not  get  killed. 

Besides — how  could  there  be  any  idea  of  death 
in  connection  with  a  creature  of  such  yitality  ? 

I  feel  my  pulses  quickening  as  I  look  at  the 
photograph.  He  has  not  got  perfectly  regular 
features — that  is  to  say,  he  does  not  look  at  all 
like  a  hairdresser's  dummy — but,  oh  !  how  hand- 
some he  is  and  how  full  of  charm  ! 

One  can  see  even  in  this  half-length  portrait 
that  he  is  not  vastly  tall.  But  the  fascination 
that  I  have  called  the  "  dignity  of  the  watch  chain  " 
is  there.  It  is  such  a  rare  thing  for  a  mere  boy  to 
have  this  fascination  !  But  he  has  it.  It  is  a  per- 
fect sorcery  in  him.  Curiously,  it  is  hardly  ever 
found  either  with  extreme  shortness  or  extreme 
tallness,  but  mostly  in  people  on  the  tall  side  of 
middle  height. 

What  beautiful  furry  lashes  he  has  !  And  his 
hair  flung  back  in  the  Magdalen  sweep  !  Perhaps 
furriness  is  the  one  characteristic  that  strikes  one 
most  as  one  looks  at  him. 

I  had  a  long  roll  of  skunk  once   with   a  gilt 


WAITING  25 

i^sel  at  the  end  of  it,  and  his  small  brother, 
playing  with  it,  said  : 

"  This  is  Yeogh  Wough's  tail.  This  is  just  the 
sort  of  tail  he'd  have  if  he  had  one  at  all." 

"  But  what  about  the  gilt  tassel  ?  "  I  had  asked. 

"  Oh,  he'd  have  that,  too !  If  Yeogh  Wough 
had  a  tail  he'd  be  sure  to  get  a  gilt  tassel  for  the 
end  of  it." 

That  was  just  like  him.  He  always  loves  every- 
thing that  is  the  best  of  its  kind  and  the  most 
effective.  This  is  one  of  his  weaknesses.  But  with 
what  an  air  he  wears  his  simple  everyday  khaki ! 
I  can  quite  see  why  they  called  him  "  Monseigneur  " 
at  his  public  school.  His  photograph  draws  me. 
I  stoop  my  face  and  kiss  it. 

My  Yeogh  Wough  !  But  is  he  wholly  mine  ? 
Is  there  not  somebody  else  who  wants  him  even 
though  he  is  still  hardly  more  than  a  boy  ? 

And  now  there  floats  before  my  eyes  the  vision 
of  a  girl ;  a  small,  delicate-faced  creature  with 
amethystine  eyes,  who  is  dreaming  dreams  that 
have  got  him  for  their  centre. 

What  a  forcing  power  for  sex  this  war  has  been, 
and  is  ! 

And  now  suddenly,  as  I  think  of  the  girl,  the 
cinematograph  of  the  mind  flashes  a  crowd  of 
vivid  pictures  across  the  screen  of  my  memory. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  EXTRAVAGANT  BABY 

THESE  pictures  rush  back  across  my  mind  with 
intense  vividness  as  I  sit  waiting. 

It  is  between  a  fortnight  and  three  weeks  since 
I  first  had  the  hope  that  he  might  come  home 
on  this  second  leave. 

The  way  the  sudden  hope  affected  me  showed 
me  how  Httle  I  had  expected  that  he  would  ever 
come  home  again.  I  had  lived  through  the  fear- 
fulness  and  anguish  of  his  death  so  many  times  in 
the  early  days  when  he  had  just  gone  out  to  the 
Front.  One  day  in  particular  I  remember  when, 
in  the  quiet  of  the  big  house  by  the  sea,  with  the 
drip,  drip  of  the  rain  telling  us  that  it  was  useless 
to  hope  to  go  out,  we  had  gone  to  lie  down  for 
half  an  hour  after  lunch  and  to  read  an  article  in 
a  newspaper  on  the  hospital  at  Bailleul. 

We  were  three  of  us  resting  on  the  wide  bed — I 
and  the  boy's  father  and  his  sixteen-year-old  sister, 
whom  he  always  called  The  Bystander,  who  was 
lying  across  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  newspaper 
article  was  by  an  American  journalist,  describing 
with  mingled  power  and  tenderness  some  dreadful 
cases  that  had  been  taken  to  the  hospital.    Then 

26 


THE  EXTRAVAGANT  BABY  27 

there  was  mention  made  of  a  boy  soldier  who  did 
not  seem  very  badly  hurt  and  whom  the  doctor 
ordered  to  be  placed  on  one  side  for  conveyance 
to  England.  The  American  journalist  looked  at 
the  boy  a  few  moments  later  and  then  touched  the 
medical  officer's  sleeve. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  boy 
will  never  go  to  England.  He's  going  to  sleep  in 
France." 

Going  to  sleep  in  France  ! 

The  awful,  unspeakable  piteousness  of  the  simple 
little  sentence  cut  through  me  like  a  knife.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  all  my  heart  and  all  my  soul 
melted  away  in  tears  as  I  lay  there  and  sobbed 
and  sobbed. 

The  boy's  father  and  sister  were  crying,  too. 

And  then  I  prayed. 

I  had  always  been  a  self-centred,  worldly  woman, 
not  much  inclined  to  prayer ;  but  in  that  hour  I 
prayed  with  the  humble  passionateness  of  dread 
and  desperation. 

How  I  loved  the  boy — I,  who  had  never  believed 
that  I  could  really  unselfishly  love  anybody  ! 

It  had  always  been  a  wonderful  thing  that  I 
should  love  him  as  I  did — I  who  had  never  felt 
my  heart  yearn  towards  children.  But  he  had 
been  to  me  in  a  sense  a  child  of  atonement.  When 
he  was  born  I  had  said  to  myself  that  I  would 
atone  by  devotion  for  many  sins  of  selfishness 
which  I  need  not  particularise  here. 


28  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

But,  then,  it  was  easy  enough  to  worship  him 
in  any  ease.  For  even  in  his  earhest  babyhood  he 
had  the  pecuHar  gift  of  Style.  He  helped  one  to 
live,  just  as  a  beautiful  flower  does,  or  a  great 
poem  or  picture. 

t    There  are  so  many  people  in  this  world  who  are 

fc  Impoverishers  !     They  don't  know   it.     Most   of 

I  them  wouldn't  even  know  what  you  meant  if  you 

'told  them  they  belonged  to  the  great  all-round 

cheapening   class.      Yet   there   they   are,    always 

making  everything  about  them  look  worse  than  it 

is.    Some  of  them  are  so  far  gone  in  want  of  style 

that  if  they  went  to  Buckingham  Palace  they 

would  immediately  make  it  look  like  a  shoddy 

place  in  Acton  or  Wandsworth.     On  the  other 

hand,  there  are  a  few  rare  and  blessed  souls  who 

would  make  a  pigsty  look  a  proper  abode  for 

royalty. 

It  has  nothing  to  do  with  money.  It  has  nothing 
to  do  with  clothes.    It  has  only  to  do  with  Self. 

My  Little  Yeogh  Wough  is  one  of  these. 

From  the  first  week  of  his  life  he  made  every- 
body about  him  live  up  to  their  income.  He 
mutely  demanded  the  best  of  everything,  even 
while  his  mere  presence  lent  a  charm  and  glory  to 
the  worst  of  things.  I  had  had  ideas  of  a  four- 
and-sixpenny  woollen  hat  and  a  ten-and-sixpenny 
pelisse  as  quite  good  enough  for  any  baby  ;  but 
when  I  looked  at  him  I  saw  that  it  had  to  be  a 
thirty-five  shilling  hat  and  a  four-guinea  cloak. 


THE  EXTRAVAGANT  BABY  29 

Somehow  or  other,  he  made  his  nurse  quite  a 
distinguished  person  to  look  at,  while  he  himself 
soon  became  a  delight  to  the  eye,  with  his  big, 
brown  velvety  eyes,  his  exquisite  skin,  his  mass  of 
shining  curls  and  his  portly  little  body — so  portly 
that  it  looked  as  if  it  were  artificially  inflated  and 
a  puncture  by  a  pin  might  cause  a  collapse. 

"  I  can't  understand  how  it  is,"  a  friend  said 
to  me  once.  "  As  a  rule,  babies,  like  cats,  make  a 
place  look  common,  but  he  never  does.  He's  got 
a  sort  of  kinghood  about  him." 

This  was  true  of  him  then  as  it  is  true  of  him 
to-day.  And  I  was  reverent.  But  there  were  times 
when  I  was  afraid.  For  I  am  a  believer  in  Com- 
pensation, and  I  know  that  where  your  special 
pride  and  joy  are,  there  shall  you  only  too  surely 
be  stricken. 

If  you  are  proud  of  your  bodily  beauty,  then  in 
that  beauty  shall  you  be  degraded.  Not  for  you 
then  shall  be  the  disease  that  comes  in  the  leg  or 
the  toe  or  in  some  wholly  unobtrusive  place  where 
no  one  need  know  of  it.  To  you  it  will  come  either 
in  the  eye,  so  that  you  have  to  wear  an  eyeshade, 
or  in  the  form  of  a  skin  disorder,  so  that  the  fair- 
ness and  perfectness  of  your  complexion  may  be 
lost  to  you.  I  have  read  of  one  of  our  most  success- 
ful business  men  that  his  great  passion  in  life 
being  the  taking  of  country  rambles  with  a  botanical 
interest,  he  had  told  himself  that  when  he  had 
made  enough  money  to  be  fairly  comfortable  in 


30  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

life  he  would  give  up  working  and  devote  himself 
to  walking  as  a  hobby  ;  but  just  as  his  business 
began  to  be  successful  he  became  paralysed  in 
the  lower  limbs,  and  thenceforward  could  only  go 
about  in  a  bathchair. 

This  is  only  one  instance  out  of  the  scores  that 
present  themselves  to  us  on  every  hand.  Com- 
pensation is  a  very  real  and  very  pitiless  Force. 
Knowing  this,  I  was  afraid ;  terribly  afraid : 
and  as  I  saw  the  beauty  grow  in  Little  Yeogh 
Wough's  baby  body  and  in  his  mind,  which  always, 
even  from  the  beginning,  seemed  to  know  things 
which  he  had  never  been  taught,  I  began  to  pray 
night  after  night : 

"  Don't  take  him  away  from  me,  oh  God ! 
Don't  take  him  away  !  " 

And  now  he  is  in  khaki,  a  lieutenant  and  adjutant 
at  just  twenty  years  old — and  is  coming  home 
from  the  Front  on  his  second  leave. 

When  I  first  realised  that  he  would  soon  be  com- 
ing home,  I  went  out  into  the  loft  over  the  old 
stables  and  took  his  baby  clothes  out  of  an  old 
trunk  and  looked  at  them.  And,  as  I  looked,  it 
seemed  to  me  such  a  little  while  since  he  had  worn 
them. 

How  patient  I  had  been  with  him  in  those  days 
— I,  who  am  not  patient  by  nature !  How  I  had 
walked  up  and  down  with  him,  sat  up  at  night 


THE  EXTRAVAGANT  BABY  31 

with  him,  sung  for  him  strange  songs  about  butcher 
boys  and  torn  eats,  and  interrupted  my  work  a 
score  of  times  every  hour  for  him  !  But  I  never 
yielded  to  him,  not  even  in  those  babyhood  days^ 
for  I  wanted  him  to  grow  up  to  be  a  fine  sample 
of  manhood,  and  I  knew  that  if  he  was  to  do 
that  he  must  know  that  his  mother  was  not 
weak. 

A  little  cream  silk  coat  and  a  pair  of  cream 
woollen  gaiters  reminded  me  of  his  first  tryings  to 
speak.  His  little  stumbling  words  had  always 
had  a  thought  behind  them.  How  he  had  taken 
us  aback  one  morning  when  he  had  presented 
himself  before  us  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  saying 
with  an  owl-like  wiseness  :  "  Fishman  doos  that.*' 
This  referred  to  the  fishmonger  whom  he  visited 
every  morning  with  his  old  nurse  for  the  giving 
of  orders.  And  then,  another  time,  when  I  was 
annoyed  with  my  brother  and  said  to  him  that 
something  he  had  done  was  :  "  Just  the  sort  of 
thing  that  eccentric  males  always  do,"  the  room 
door  had  opened  suddenly  to  admit  a  little  figure 
in  the  cream  silk  pelisse  and  woollen  gaiters,  and 
a  baby  voice  had  cried  reproachfully : 

"  Not  'centric  males.    No  !  " 

"  He's  beginning  pretty  early  to  stand  up  for 
his  own  sex,"  my  brother  said  with  a  laugh  that 
drove  away  the  cloud  of  annoyance  between 
us. 

And  yet  the  boy  had  in  him  that  touch  of  the 


82  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

feminine  which  the  best  men  have  and  which 
makes  them  irresistible.  Already  in  his  little  way 
he  had  a  knightly  reverence  for  womanhood. 
Already  his  few  pence  of  pocket  money  were  spent 
on  flowers  for  me. 

I  remember  that  what  struck  me  most  when  he 
came  into  the  room  at  this  time  was  his  brave 
little  walk.  He  always  had  such  brave,  gay  feet ! 
I  thought  of  this  again  last  week  when  in  answer 
to  my  question  in  a  letter  as  to  how  his  battalion 
had  got  all  the  way  down  from  near  Ypres  to  some- 
where east  of  Abbeville,  he  said  : 

"  We  got  a  train  for  a  bit  of  the  way,  but  mostly 
we  came  on  our  feet." 

Oh,  the  dear,  dear  feet,  so  plucky  and  untiring ! 
And  how  I  loved  the  "  we  "  and  the  "  our  "  !  He 
always  has  identified  himself  with  his  men,  so  that 
they  know  that  he  cares  for  them,  and  they 
would  follow  him,  as  his  colonel  put  it,  "  anywhere 
and  into  anything." 

And  that  day  in  his  small  childhood  the  little 
feet  had  a  charm  that  for  an  instant  brought  quick 
hot  tears  into  my  eyes. 

He  was  very  shy,  though  sometimes  he  could 
be  very  bold — as  when  one  day,  coming  into  the 
dining-room  and  finding  a  certain  important 
person  sitting  there,  he  fetched  on]  his  own 
account  a  box  of  Vafiadis  and,  thrusting  them 
under  the  visitor's  eyes,  said  coolly : 

"  'Ave  a  cigawette  ?  " 


THE  EXTRAVAGANT  BABY  33 

At  other  times  nothing  could  induce  him  to  go 
into  a  room  where  there  was  someone  who  was  a 
stranger  to  him. 

His  first  experience  of  serious  punishment  came 
of  this  sensitiveness  and  shyness.  A  very  well- 
known  but  decidedly  ugly  man  was  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  the  child,  under  pressure,  went  in  to  be 
seen  of  him.  But  when  he  caught  sight  of  the 
visitor,  his  feelings  overcame  him. 

"  Shunny  man  !  Ugly  man  !  '*  he  cried  ;  and 
he  turned  and  bolted. 

And  so  sweet  was  that  ugly  man  that  he  not  only 
forgave  him,  but  declared  afterwards  that  it  was 
the  wretched  little  insulter's  charm  and  beauty 
which  had  led  him  to  think  of  marriage  in  the  hope 
of  having  children  of  his  own.  But,  as  for  me — I 
left  the  visitor  to  my  husband's  care,  and,  following 
the  three-year-old  sinner  out  of  the  room  and  up- 
stairs to  the  nursery,  whither  he  had  fled,  I  ad- 
ministered personal  chastisement. 

I  soon  found,  however,  that  to  punish  him  for 
social  misbehaviour  would  not  always  be  possible, 
because  most  of  his  naughtiness  in  this  respect  was 
due  to  nerves.  It  seemed  to  be  a  penalty  attaching 
to  his  really  unusual  beauty  that  I  should  be  un- 
able to  show  it  off.  Many  and  many  a  time  I 
took  him  to  literary  and  artistic  gatherings  only 
to  find  myself  obliged  to  send  him  home  with  his 
nurse  before  any  exhibiting  of  him  had  been  pos- 
sible.   The  least  excitement  would  throw  him  into 


34  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

such  a  fit  of  nerves  as  made  even  his  grandmothers 
learn  new  wisdom  about  childhood. 

He  was  never  gleeful.  He  had  the  sweetest, 
gladdest  smile  in  the  world,  but  there  was  always 
an  underlying  sadness  in  him  that  worried  the 
many  good  people  who  imagine  that  if  a  child  is 
happy  it  must  needs  be  jumping  about  and 
laughing  more  or  less  noisily.  And  a  great  grief 
came  to  him  at  this  time  when  his  first  nurse  left 
to  be  married. 

Fond  though  he  was  of  me,  he  w^as  yet  so  un- 
happy over  this  that  he  was  very  nearly  ill.  How 
different  children's  characters  are  !  His  sister.  The 
Bystander,  then  three  months  old,  never  cared 
who  nursed  her.  Nurses  might  come  and  nurses 
might  go,  but  as  long  as  she  was  fed  and  bathed 
and  looked  after,  she  cared  not  a  tinker's  curse. 

And  then  there  came  two  very  important  new- 
comers to  the  household — a  black  puppy,  and  the 
elderly  woman  who  from  then  till  now  has  been 
known  as  the  Old  Nurse. 

Oh,  that  Old  Nurse !  what  would  she  say  now  if 
she  were  watching  and  waiting  here  with  us  for 
her  Master  Roland  to  come  home  on  leave,  instead 
of  lying  in  her  grave  as  she  has  been  for  eighteen 
months,  where  the  alarms  of  war  reach  her  not ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FIRST  STEPS   OF  THE  LITTLE  FEET 

THERE  is  nothing  like  smells,  or  clothes,  for 
bringing  back  the  past.  The  scent  of  the 
American  currant  will  always  bring  my  childhood 
back  to  me  when  even  music  could  not  do  it. 
The  hardest-hearted  criminal  can  be  softened 
sometimes  to  yielding  and  to  tears  by  some  smell 
that  brings  back  an  old  home  life  long  since  for- 
gotten. In  the  same  way  the  sight  of  clothes  worn 
in  other  days  sends  the  memory  darting  back 
across  the  years.  So  it  was  with  me  when  I  was 
rummaging  among  my  Little  Yeogh  Wough's 
things  and  found  a  pink  linen  coat  and  knee 
breeches  and  a  little  white-frilled  shirt  that  had 
been  worn  with  them. 

That  little  pink  linen  suit  lit  up  the  past  for  me 
just  as  a  lamp  lights  up  a  dark  place  into  which 
it  is  suddenly  carried. 

I  had  a  vision  of  yellow  curls  under  a  sailor  hat 
and  sunning  out  over  a  white  embroidery  collar. 
I  saw  little  brown  hands  always  finding  something 
to  do  and  doing  it  masterfully,  reckless  of  conse- 
quences. I  saw  happy  Christmases  and  birthdays 
made    stupendously    joyous    by    the    coming    of 

35 


36  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

luxurious  toys,  which  may  have  been  wastefully 
extravagant,  but  which  helped,  anyhow,  to  build  a 
foundation  of  happiness  for  the  child  and  his  sister 
and  brother  to  look  back  to  in  after  years.  I  saw 
battles  in  the  nursery  in  which  the  Old  Nurse 
and  the  under  nurse  were  sometimes  worsted  and 
even  received  personal  injuries.  But,  above  all, 
I  saw  two  scenes  which  had  a  bearing  on  the  future 
of  my  Yeogh  Wough,  who  was  one  day  to  go  to 
the  trenches  in  France  and  Flanders  and  fight  for 
his  country. 

The  first  was  the  occasion  of  the  christening  of 
his  newly  arrived  small  brother.  The  scene  was  a 
London  church,  and  after  the  christening  ceremony 
the  clergyman  looked  at  Yeogh  Wough  and  then 
spoke  to  me. 

"  This  elder  boy  was  only  baptised  privately,  at 
home,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  ought  to  be  received  properly  into 
the  Church.    I  will  do  it  now." 

And  he  put  out  his  hand  and  drew  Yeogh 
Wough  towards  him. 

The  boy  went  deathly  white  and  we  who  watched 
him  knew  that  one  of  his  attacks  of  nerves  was 
threatening.  The  big,  brown,  velvety  eyes  were 
for  a  moment  shrinking  and  wavering.  Then,  as 
if  something  said  within  him  that  when  one  is  a 
boy  of  just  six  years  old  one  must  go  forward  with 
things  and  play  the  game,  he  steadied  and  straight- 


FIRST  STEPS  OF  LITTLE  FEET        37 

ened  himself  suddenly,  lifted  his  big  head  very- 
high — it  was  like  the  head  of  a  lion  cub — and, 
though  his  cheeks  were  bloodless  still,  went  through 
the  ceremony  without  faltering. 

"  He's  got  the  stuff  in  him  that  heroes  are  made 
of,"  someone  said  to  his  father  and  to  me.  "  He'd 
go  to  martyrdom  just  in  the  same  way." 

The  other  scene  that  stands  out  took  place  half 
a  year  earlier,  when  he  was  five  and  a  half.  He 
had  been  down  on  a  visit  to  some  relatives  in  the 
country  and  was  talking  about  a  particular  pond 
which  he  had  seen.  Then  his  father  began  to  tell 
him  the  story  of  how  the  famous  American  preacher 
Theodore  Parker,  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  was 
standing  one  day  by  a  pond,  looking  at  a  beautiful 
flower  that  grew  at  its  edge,  when  a  frog  suddenly 
came  up  out  of  the  water.  Young  Parker  took  up 
a  stone  to  kill  the  frog,  but  stopped  because  a 
voice  within  him,  which  was  the  voice  of  his  con- 
science, told  him  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  take 
the  harmless  creature's  life. 

"Yes,  fa'ver,"  Little  Yeogh  Wough  nodded 
wisely.  "  I  know  about  that  voice.  I've  heard 
it,  too.    I'm  hearing  it  now." 

"  You're  hearing  it  now,  Roland  ?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  down  at  Uncle  Jack's  there  were  some 
nice  round  things,  all  white  and  red  and  smooth, 
and  I  wanted  them  and  I  asked  Auntie  May  if  I 
could  have  them  and  she  said  :  '  No,  Yoland,  you 


38  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

can't  have  them,  because  they're  ivowy  card 
counters.'  And  I  didn't  Hke  her  telUng  me  I 
couldn't  have  them,  so  I  took  them  when  she  was 
gone  out,  and  I've  bwought  them  up  here  to  London 
wiv'  me.  Nurse  doesn't  know.  I've  got  them  now. 
But  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  want  them  now." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  That  was  very  wrong  of 
you.  You  must  go  and  get  them  at  once  and  give 
them  up  to  your  mother  or  to  me  and  we  will 
send  them  back  to  Auntie  May  and  tell  her  that 
you  are  very  sorry." 

"  Yes,  I've  been  sorry  ever  since  I  bwought 
them  up." 

A  little  blue  silk  suit  flashed  my  thoughts  back 
to  a  garden  party  which  the  weather  turned  into 
an  indoor  party,  and  at  which  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
made  himself  a  small  Master  of  the  Ceremonies, 
taking  away  from  his  smaller  sister  an  ice  which 
she  had  secretly  captured  and  conducting  her 
upstairs  on  the  pretext  that  at  three  and  a  half 
years  old  she  was  too  young  to  take  part  in  social 
affairs.  How  the  gay,  brave  little  feet  went  about 
that  day,  with  the  joy  of  the  May-time  in  the  house, 
in  spite  of  the  rain,  and  outside  all  the  glamour 
and  the  glory  of  a  London  that  as  yet  knew  not 
the  Great  War ! 

There  is  an  American  song  in  which  a  mother 
declares  that  she  never  raised  her  son  to  be  a 


FIRST  STEPS  OF  LITTLE  FEET        39 

soldier.  I  never  raised  my  son  to  be  a  soldier. 
I  thought  he  had  too  much  brain  power  for  the 
Army,  especially  if  there  was  to  be  no  war.  And 
yet  I  was  making  him  a  soldier  every  day,  and, 
above  all,  every  night. 

For  every  night  of  his  life,  from  the  time  he  was 
two  years  old,  I  had  gone  to  see  him  in  bed,  as  he 
phrased  it.  Now  and  again  there  was  a  break  in 
these  nightly  visits,  when  I  had  to  go  out  to  dinner, 
and  especially  to  an  unusually  early  dinner ;  but, 
except  for  these  rare  breaks,  I  never  failed  the 
child  in  these  good-night  talks. 

"  Come  and  see  me  in  bed,  mother,"  was  his 
regular  appeal  after  his  good-night  kiss.  And  I 
went,  and  after  hearing  him  say  his  prayers  I 
knelt  down  by  his  bedside  and  talked  to  him, 
sometimes  for  a  whole  hour. 

Not  that  he  and  I  had  long  talks  at  these  particular 
times  only.  All  day  long,  until  his  school  days  came, 
we  were  together.  I  never  talked  down  to  him  or 
tried  to  make  myself  a  child  for  him.  It  was  he 
who  was  always  trying  to  reach  up  to  me.  When 
I  brushed  my  hair  or  looked  over  my  clothes  or 
dressed  for  some  affair  or  other,  he  was  in  my 
room  always  and  I  talked  to  him  in  French,  until 
he  came  to  know  in  a  tender  easy  way  that  tongue 
which  has  been  of  so  much  use  to  him  in  this  past 
year  of  the  War,  when,  as  adjutant,  and  as  Mess 
President  of  his  battalion,  he  has  needed  to  do  a 
good  deal  of  talking  with  people  who  haven't  a 


40  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

word  of  English.  He  would  hear  me  repeating 
snatches  of  poetry,  too,  and  afterwards,  when  he 
was  alone,  he  could  be  heard  saying  them  over  to 
himself  in  a  way  which  showed  that  he  perfectly 
grasped  their  meaning.  He  walked  with  me,  drove 
with  me,  watched  me  at  my  work,  and,  as  soon  as 
he  was  able  to  read,  began  to  read  to  me.  For  I 
had  hurt  my  eyes  by  overwork  then  and  could 
not  read  to  myself.  It  was  my  Compensation  for 
having  him  and  for  having  at  the  same  time  a 
little — a  very  little — worldly  success. 

This  belief  in  Compensation  has  become  a  part 
of  my  life  now  and  stops  my  natural  gaiety.  I 
have  never  had  a  happy  day  yet  or  a  whole-hearted 
laugh  without  paying  for  it.  This  is  what 
makes  me  afraid  now  that  Yeogh  Wough  is  coming 
home  on  his  second  leave.  A  man  who  is  fighting 
for  his  country  does  not  come  home  unwounded  on 
his  second  leave  without  something  happening. 

Oh,  if  people  would  only  see  this  and  take  care  ! 
But  they  are  blind  to  instances  of  it  that  are  about 
them  every  day.  Lord  Roberts  bought  his  Boer 
War  successes  with  the  death  of  his  son.  Lieutenant 
Warneford  paid  for  his  double  V.C.  with  his  life 
when  he  next  went  up  into  the  air.    And  so  on. 

At  night,  when  I  knelt  by  Yeogh  Wough' s  bed- 
side till  my  knees  were  sore,  the  things  we  talked 
of  were  different.  We  put  Henley  and  Browning 
and  Stevenson  and  others  of  their  kind  aside  then 
and  I  spoke  to  him  of  what  boyhood  means  and 


FIRST  STEPS  OF  LITTLE  FEET        41 

what  manhood  means  ;  of  the  glories  of  manly 
work,  such  as  engineering,  shipbuilding,  inventing, 
and  the  need  for  hard  striving  and  straight  living. 

"  You  must  never  be  feeble.  Little  Yeogh  Wough. 
Feebleness  is  a  thing  that  nobody  can  forgive, 
except  in  old  people  and  children.  It's  better  to 
be  strong  in  doing  bad  things  than  not  strong  at 
all.  But  you'll  get  to  know  when  you  grow  up 
that  badness  is  only  a  funny  kind  of  weakness. 
You  must  be  strong.  Look  at  Kitchener  !  He's 
got  on  by  being  strong  and  thorough.  They  say 
that  when  the  rails  came  for  the  building  of  the 
Soudan  railway  he  examined  every  yard  of  metal 
himself,  not  trusting  to  other  people.  That's 
thoroughness." 

I  taught  him  what  patriotism  means. 

He  had  lived  through  the  Boer  War,  though  it 
had  found  him  hardly  more  than  four  years  old. 
He  had  seen  a  woman  burst  into  tears  in  the  street 
when  a  regiment  of  Highlanders  swung  past,  and 
I  had  told  him  why  she  had  done  so  and  all  about 
Magersfontein.  I  had  told  him  the  story  of  the 
American  Civil  War,  lighting  it  up  with  such 
things  as  the  story  of  the  play  "  Secret  Service." 
I  had  put  great  figures  up  as  models  for  him,  and 
among  them  was  the  figure  of  Cecil  Rhodes.  I 
had  taught  him  that  the  least  little  thing  he  did, 
even  so  small  a  thing  as  the  mending  of  a  toy, 
must  be  done  thoroughly,  because  he  was  British 
born  and  had  the  British  repute  to  keep  up.    And 


42  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

then  together,  he  with  his  curly  head  on  the 
pillow  and  his  hand  clasping  mine  as  I  knelt  beside 
the  bed,  we  would  repeat  poems  by  Newbolt  and 
Conan  Doyle  and  Quiller  Couch.  The  one  he 
came  to  love  best  was  Newbolt' s  "  Vitse  Lampada  " 
with  those  lines  : — 

*'  The  sand  of  the  desert  is  sodden  red. 
Red  with  the  wreck  of  a  square  that  broke  ; 
The  GatUng's  jammed  and  the  Colonel's  dead. 
And  the  regiment's  bUnd  with  dust  and  smoke  ; 
The  river  of  death  has  brimmed  its  banks, 
And  England's  far  and  honour's  a  name  ; 
But  the  voice  of  a  schoolboy  rallies  the  ranks  : 
'  Play  up  !     Play  up  !     And  play  the  game  *  !  " 

"  Do  you  understand  this,  Little  Yeogh  Wough  ? 
You  are  not  likely  ever  to  be  a  soldier,  but  you 
have  got  to  carry  all  this  out  in  ordinary  life,  as 
much  as  in  war." 

*'  This  is  the  word  that,  year  by  year. 
While  in  her  place  the  School  is  set. 
Every  one  of  her  sons  must  hear. 
And  none  that  hears  it  dares  forget ; 
This  they  all,  with  a  joyful  mind, 
Bear  through  life  Uke  a  torch  in  flame  ; 
And,  falling,  fling  to  the  hosts  behind  : 
*  Play  up  !     Play  up  !    And  play  the  game  !  '  " 

Oh,  yes  !  Yes  !  I  was  making  him  a  soldier 
with  every  day  and  night  that  passed.  But  I  did 
not  know  it.  Ah  !  If  I  could  have  looked  forward 
and  seen  myself  as  I  am  to-night,  sitting  here 


FIRST  STEPS  OF  LITTLE  FEET        43 

waiting  for  him  to  come  home  from  the  trenches 
on  his  second  leave  ! 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  be  a  real  soldier  when  I 
grow  up,  do  you,  mother  ?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  Well,  no,  dear,  I  don't  think  I  do.  I  don't 
think  it  will  be  enough  for  you  to  occupy  all  your 
mind  with.  You  see,  soldiering  is  an  ornamental 
affair  with  us.  It  isn't  as  if  we  made  a  thorough 
business  of  it,  as  the  Germans  do — though,  when  I 
had  the  good  luck  the  other  evening  to  meet  the 
biggest  military  man  of  to-day  and  have  a  talk 
with  him,  he  said  it  was  one  of  our  worst  mistakes 
to  think  that  no  brains  are  wanted  in  the  Army. 
He  said  we  want  all  the  best  brains  we  can  get,  and 
the  more  of  them  the  better." 

Sometimes,  when  I  left  the  boy,  after  tucking  him 
in  and  pulling  back  his  curtains  and  opening  his 
window,  I  met  the  sturdy  Old  Nurse,  who  had  been 
lying  in  wait  for  me. 

"  If  you  please'm,  I  wish  you'd  speak  to  that 
there  Master  Roland  and  make  'im  behave  'isself 
better.  I  can't  think  how  you  thinks  he's  such  a 
good  boy  and  so  reasonable.  Why,  the  way  he  do 
carry  on  in  the  nursery  is  something  shocking.  He 
hid  his  myganas  to-night  till  I  was  a  hour  and  more 
'unting  for  them  and  'ad  to  air  'im  a  clean  suit  of 
them  to  go  to  bed  in.  You  spoils  'im  so  that  there's 
no  doin'  nothin'  with  'im  when  your  back's  turned." 

She  was  indignantly  holding  out  a  suit  of  pyja- 
mas.   I  did  my  best  to  look  stern. 


44  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

*'  You  know  very  well,  Nurse,  that  I  always 
punish  him  when  he  deserves  punishment.  I  gave 
him  a  touch  of  the  cane  only  last  week." 

She  made  her  long  upper  lip  look  longer. 

"  'M,  yes.  M'say,  there's  punishing  and  punish- 
ing. There's  some  ways  of  caning  that's  more  like 
petting  than  anything  else.  Why,  now,  didn't 
you  tell  me  that  those  two  young  gentlemen  as  was 
dining  here  the  other  night  wasn't  very  well  ? 
That's  Master  Roland's  doings.  They  'ad  that 
bottle  of  still  'Ock  as  'ad  been  uncorked  and  corked 
up  again,  and  Master  Roland,  'e  thought  as  it 
ought  to  be  sparkling  'Ock,  and  he  took  and 
emptied  all  the  Pyretic  Saline  into  it — a  new  full 
bottle.    What  I  d'say  is,  if  you  spoils  a  child " 

I  left  the  good  Gloucestershire  woman  to  go  on 
with  her  mumblings  unheeded.  But  now,  remem- 
bering how  she  always  accused  me  of  spoiUng  him, 
I  asked  myself  if  I  really  did  so. 

Did  I  really  spoil  him  ?  If  so,  it  was  only  a 
little,  and  I  am  glad — glad — glad — knowing  as  I 
do  what  he  has  had  to  bear  since  he  went  out  to 
the  trenches. 

He,  who  had  been  so  shielded,  has  learned  during 
this  past  year  what  it  is  like  to  have  the  brains  of 
a  man  you  knew  and  cared  for  spattered  all  over 
you  as  you  stand  in  your  trench.  He  has  learned 
what  it  feels  like  to  slip  and  fall  on  something  soft 
and  slime-like  on  his  way  to  a  new  trench  at  night 
and  then  to  find  that  he  had  slid  his  hand  into  the 


FIRST  STEPS  OF  LITTLE  FEET        45 

decaying  body  of  a  long-dead  German  soldier.  He 
has  heard  wild  screams  of  women  at  night  from 
the  depths  of  a  wood,  and  weeks  afterwards  has 
come  upon  mm-dered  nuns  lying  cold  and  piteous, 
seven  of  them  together.  When  I  think  of  all  this 
I  thank  God  that  he  has  at  least  a  happy  child- 
hood to  look  back  upon. 

He  says  in  his  last  letter  that  he  has  learnt 
much  and  gained  much  and  grown  up  suddenly 
and  got  to  know  the  ways  of  the  world.  This  has 
made  me  curiously  uneasy.  I  have  a  fear  that  it 
may  cover  up  something — some  experience  that  I 
should  not  have  liked  him  to  go  through.  And  yet 
— ^while  he  can  still  sign  himseU  Little  Yeogh  Wough, 
I  know  that  he  is  not  lost  nor  utterly  spoiled.  I 
know  that  in  spite  of  the  new  life  and  its  duties 
and  horrors,  there  is  even  yet  a  good  deal  of  the 
old  life  left  in  him.  He  is  still  the  "  old  Roland  "  ; 
still  mine — the  boy  of  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  AND  OTHER  THINGS 

I  WENT  to  look  at  his  room,  feeling  that  it 
ought  to  be  done  up  before  he  comes  home. 
It  would  certainly  be  improved  by  new  wall- 
paper, but  I  dare  not  have  this  improvement 
made.  Superstition  reminds  me  that  I  have  often 
noticed  how  unlucky  people  have  been  who  have 
had  their  bedrooms  done  up.  They  are  always 
either  ill  in  the  rooms  or  else  never  occupy  them 
any  more.  I  decided  at  once  that  I  would  not 
have  it  done.  The  room  was  attractive  enough,  as 
it  is,  with  its  high,  narrow,  mirror-hung  door 
leading  into  the  bathroom,  and  its  vast  wardrobe 
packed  full  now  with  his  ordinary  clothes,  his 
military  great-coat — too  long  and  cumbersome 
for  the  trenches,  even  in  winter — and  piles  of 
small  books  which  in  the  past  two  years  he  has 
bought  out  of  his  own  pocket-money ;  and  his 
sword. 

The  bed  had  an  air  as  if  it  were  waiting  for  him. 
The  darling  boy !  How  thankfully  he  nestled  down 
between  the  sheets  when  he  came  home  the  first 
time  1  His  big  brown  eyes  were  almost  wild,  that 
night.    He  had  the  look  of  a  man  who  has  been 

46 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  47 

back  for  a  time  into  savage  life  and  wonders  at 
the  most  everyday  things  of  civihsation. 

"  I  haven't  slept  in  a  proper  bed  since  I  first 
went  out,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  what  about  that  French  chateau  where 
you  said  everything  was  so  luxurious  ?  "  I  asked 
him. 

"  Oh,  everything  is  comparative !  "  He  laughed. 
"  I  had  a  feather  bed  on  the  floor  there  and  it 
seemed  to  be  almost  a  wicked  luxury  even  though 
there  were  no  sheets  or  pillows  and  I  had  only  my 
brown  blanket  over  me." 

Yes,  even  then,  a  fortnight  ago,  his  bed  had  an 
air  of  expectancy  about  it,  as  if  it  knew  that  he 
had  written  to  say  he  was  coming  again.  Above 
the  head  of  it  the  wall  was  bare,  because  I  had 
left  it  to  him  to  decide  what  should  be  put  there, 
and  he  never  cared  two  straws  what  his  room 
looked  like  as  long  as  it  had  all  the  little  things  he 
wanted  in  it  and  was  within  a  dozen  yards  of  a 
bathroom. 

That  unlucky  bathroom  !  Why  is  it  that  bath- 
rooms and  staircases  cause  more  angry  passions  in 
a  household  than  anything  else  ? 

I,  for  example,  am  not  a  bad-tempered  woman. 
I  am  positive  that  even  my  worst  enemy — my 
worst  feminine  enemy — ^would  think  twice  before 
laying  ill-temper  to  my  charge  ;  yet  when  anybody 
meets  me  on  the  stairs,  or  comes  upstairs  close 
behind  me,  I  feel  inhuman.     I  quite  understand 


48  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

the  mood  of  the  late  editor  of  one  of  the  great  daily 
newspapers,  who  drove  from  his  house  without 
notice  any  servant  unlucky  enough  to  meet  him 
on  the  stairs.  So,  too,  when  a  new  London  club 
was  started  a  few  years  ago  in  a  very  tall  and 
narrow  house,  I  said  it  could  never  succeed,  because 
all  the  people — members  and  servants  alike — were 
always  mounting  and  descending  the  staircases, 
like  Burne  Jones's  figures  on  the  Golden  Stairs. 
And  it  did  not  succeed. 

In  the  same  way,  most  men  cannot  bear  that 
the  door  of  any  room,  even  the  most  private,  in 
their  own  home  should  be  locked  against  them. 
And  this  brings  me  back  to  the  bathroom  and 
Little  Yeogh  Wough. 

When  a  bathroom  is  of  the  ordinary  kind,  the 
only  cause  of  trouble,  as  a  rule,  is  whether  the  hot 
I  water  is  hot  enough.  But  this  particular  bath- 
room has  three  doors,  and  the  occupants  of  the 
three  contiguous  rooms  from  which  those  doors 
give  access  occasionally  emerged  at  the  same  time 
and  fiercely  disputed  possession  of  the  means  of 
cleanliness. 

When  Little  Yeogh  Wough  was  at  home  he 
usually  slipped  in  at  a  well-chosen  moment  by 
his  particular  door  and,  locking  the  two  other 
doors  on  the  inside,  remained  master  of  the  situa- 
tion, while  various  other  members  of  the  family, 
and  notably  his  father,  stormed  outside.  The  boy 
had  always  been  a  fanatical  devotee  of  the  Bath, 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  49 

and  since  he  has  been  in  the  trenches  and  personal 
cleanliness  has  been  difficult,  he  has  become  more 
so  than  ever.  He  loves  his  room  because  of  this 
door  leading  into  the  bathroom,  and  more  so  still 
because  of  the  long  mirror  set  in  the  door  on  his 
own  side. 

For  he  is  vain,  my  Little  Yeogh  Wough.  There 
is  nothing  effeminate  about  him,  though  he  knows 
a  great  deal  of  womanly  lore  and  could,  for  in- 
stance, choose  the  right  lace  for  a  particular  gown 
as  well  as  I  could  do  it  myself.  There  is  nothing 
of  the  tailor's  or  hairdresser's  dummy  about  him, 
with  clothes  looking  like  those  pictiu-ed  in  an 
illustrated  booklet  and  hair  plastered  with  the 
meticulous  exactitude  required  of  men  going  into 
a  Thames  racing  craft,  where  one  hair  more  on 
one  side  or  the  other  might  sink  the  cranky  shell 
and  plunge  them  into  the  river.  He  is  smart  and 
polished  and  speckless  as  any  prince  with  a  valet 
at  five  hundred  a  year,  and  he  brilliantined  his 
rather  fair  and  very  rebellious  locks  until  in  the 
process  of  subduing  they  became  many  shades 
darker  than  their  natural  hue  ;  yet  he  always  saw 
clearly  and  maintained  firmly  that  clothes  should 
set  off  the  man  or  woman  and  not  be  allowed  to 
make  use  of  the  glorious  human  figure  as  a  mere 
peg  on  which  to  display  themselves,  while  hair 
should  never  advertise  the  coiffeur.  So,  though  he 
has  always  examined  himself  before  looking-glasses 
and  had  pots  of  all  sorts  of  toilet  things  on  his 


50  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

dressing-table,  yet  he  has  always  been  the  manliest 
of  the  manly. 

"  Why  shouldn't  a  boy  look  in  the  glass  as  well 
as  a  girl  ?  "  he  said  to  me  one  day.  "  I  don't  see 
why  it  should  only  be  the  females  that  are  allowed 
to  take  pleasure  in  whatever  good  things  in  the 
way  of  looks  may  happen  to  have  been  given 
them." 

All  his  little  personal  ways  came  back  to  me  as 
I  moved  about  his  room,  making  sure  that  nothing 
should  be  missing  when  he  came.  The  back  brush 
he  had  bought  for  the  bath  looked  a  little  dusty, 
so  I  washed  it.  Even  as  I  did  this,  snatches  of 
poems  which  I  would  rather  not  have  remembered 
just  then  kept  on  coming  to  my  mind  and  my 
lips.  There  was  a  poem  called  "  Aftermath  "  in 
The  Times,  which  I  shall  never  be  able  to  forget. 
It  begins  : 

'*  Yes  .  .  .  he  is  gone  .  .  .  there  is  the  message  .  .  .  see ! 
My  son  .  .  .  my  eldest  son.    So  be  it,  God  ! 
This  is  no  time  for  tears  ...  no  time  to  mom'n. 

In  the  years  to  come, 
When  we  have  done  our  work,  and  God's  own  peace 
With  tranquil  glory  floods  a  troubled  world, 
Why,  then,  perhaps,  in  the  old  hall  at  home. 
Our  eyes,  my  wife,  shall  meet  and  gleam,  and  mark. 
Niched  on  the  walls  in  sanctity  of  pride, 
Hal's  sword,  Dick's  medal,  and  the  cross  He  won. 
Yet  never  wore.    That  is  the  time  for  tears  ; 
Drawn  from  a  well  of  love  deep  down  .  .  .  deep  down ; 
Deep  as  the  mystery  of  immortal  souls. 
That  is  the  time  for  tears  .  .  .  not  now  !    Not  now  !  " 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  51 

And  then  the  last  Hne  of  some  verses  which  I  saw 
somewhere  else,  headed  "  The  Second  Lieutenant "  : 

•*  Up  and  up  to  his  God,'* 

and,  best  and  worst  of  all,  Rupert  Brooke's  : 

*'  If  I  should  die,  think  only  this  of  me. 

That  there's  one  corner  of  a  foreign  field 
Shall  be  for  ever  England " 

When  I  got  to  this  point,  the  tears  which  had 
been  blinding  me  so  that  I  could  hardly  see  what 
I  was  doing  brimmed  over  and  fell  on  the  back 
brush.  Why  did  I  let  those  tears  come  when  I 
ought  to  have  been  smiling  and  singing  because 
he  is  coming  home  ? 

I  might  as  well  be  foolish  enough  to  cry  now, 
when  I  am  sitting  here  waiting  for  him  and  when 
I  know  that  at  some  blessed  moment  during  the 
next  half-hour  he  is  bound  to  come  in. 

I  was  quite  angry  with  myself  when  I  wiped 
my  tears  away  that  time  a  fortnight  ago.  I  dried 
the  back  brush  with  unnecessary  energy  and  then 
took  another  and  closer  look  about  his  room. 

One  of  his  hats  and  his  riding  whip  hung  together 
on  the  wall  above  shelves  of  books  which  he  had 
bought  himself.  Every  one  of  those  books  spoke 
to  me  of  him  as  I  glanced  at  their  titles.  Another 
bookcase  was  gloriously  rich  with  his  Public  School 
prizes.  Such  handsome,  wonderful  books  they 
are ;    and  there  are  about  fifty  of  them.    What  a 


52  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

tale  they  tell  of  power  and  effort !  I  had  had  a 
curtain  made  for  the  bookcase,  to  keep  the  dust 
away  from  these  most  precious  of  treasures,  and  as 
I  drew  the  velvet  folds  back  now  and  looked  at 
the  massive  ornamental  volumes,  I  felt  a  thrill  at 
the  thought  that  my  continual  spurring  of  him 
onward  and  upward  had  not  been  in  vain. 

"  And  he  has  never  disappointed  me,"  I  thought 
aloud. 

No,  he  had  never  disappointed  me.  And  people 
as  a  rule  are  so  disappointing  !  One's  friends  fall 
short,  one's  lover  says  the  wrong  thing  at  the 
wrong  time,  or  forgets  to  say  the  right  thing — 
which  is  even  worse — and  one's  dearest  clergymen 
and  favourite  actors  and  heroes  generally  make 
unspeakable  fools  of  themselves  just  as  one  is 
getting  ready  to  fall  on  one's  knees  and  worship 
them. 

All  my  life  I  have  asked  too  much  of  people 
and  then  been  left  gaping  at  their  unsatisfyingness. 
So  it  was  no  wonder  that  I  was  always  frankly 
amazed  whenever  I  stopped  to  realise  that  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  had  always  come  up  to  my 
expectations. 

Not  that  he  was  ever  a  prig.  Heaven  forbid  ! 
I  would  run  farther  from  a  prig  than  from  a  criminal. 
He  has  always  had  heaps  of  faults.  But  they  are 
fine  faults.  One  never  rams  one's  head  against  a 
blank  wall  in  him,  but  always  finds  deeps  and  deeps 
behind. 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  53 

"  That  there  Master  Roland  'ave  got  so  many  nooks 
and  corners  in  his  mind  that  you  can't  never  tell 
when  you've  got  to  the  end  of  'im,"  Old  Nurse 
said  once,  mixing  up  her  words,  but  showing  her 
meaning  plainly  enough.  "  And  what  I  says  is, 
'e'U  go  on  getting  deeper  and  deeper  all  his  life, 
till  'e  gets  into  the  sincere  and  yellow  leaf,  as  the 
Scriptures  calls  it." 

Oh,  how  his  room  went  on  speaking  to  me  of 
him !  Sargent's  picture  of  Carmencita,  the  Spanish 
dancer,  is  over  the  fireplace,  with  two  fencing  foils 
crossed  above  it ;  and  above  these  again  is  a  pic- 
ture of  two  stately  lovers  walking  by  the  shore  in 
Brittany.  The  table  near  the  foot  of  the  bed  had 
a  pile  of  little  military  books  upon  it — "  Quick 
Training  for  War  "  and  its  fellows — and  dear  little 
books  of  poems,  and  some  sheets  of  his  favourite 
green  blotting-paper.  He  put  himself  out  a  good 
deal  to  get  that  green  blotting-paper,  saying  that 
white  showed  the  ink  stains  too  much,  while  pink 
was  an  abomination,  like  a  red  flannel  petticoat 
for  a  woman  or  a  magenta  pelisse  for  a  pallid,  blue- 
eyed  child. 

The  dressing-table  drawers  were,  and  still  are, 
full  of  things  that  he  has  no  use  for  at  the  Front ; 
all  except  the  two  small  drawers  on  either  side  of 
the  looking-glass,  which  have  got  a  few  old  letters 
in  them  and  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  nice  things, 
such  as  solidified  Eau  de  Cologne  and  the  most 
deliciously  fragrant  shaving  cream. 


54  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Shaving,  indeed  !  Why,  he  has  only  done  it 
for  a  year  or  so !  I  am  sorry,  by  the  way,  that  he 
has  got  a  moustache  now.  Speaking  for  myself, 
I  don't  like  a  man  with  a  moustache,  except  in 
the  capacity  of  lover.  Of  course,  I  hate  beards, 
anyhow.  They  always  make  me  think  of  Abraham 
and  Isaac  and  all  those  old  uninteresting  men 
whom  no  woman  with  any  romance  in  her  would 
look  at  twice,  even  if  it  were  a  case  of  him  and  of 
her  being  the  sole  survivors  of  the  human  race  in 
the  world.  By  the  way,  though,  I  did  once  see  a 
beard  which  was  attractive — or,  more  truthfully, 
was  not  unattractive.  It  was  a  short,  silky,  auburn 
beard,  torpedo-shaped,  and  it  was  on  a  naval 
officer  who  was  otherwise  so  charming  that  he 
might  perhaps  have  carried  off  worse  things  than  this 
with  success.  But,  coming  back  to  the  moustache, 
it  is  a  fit  appendage  for  a  man  in  the  lover  stage, 
because  it  gives  an  impression  of  masculinity. 
But  when  a  man  is  my  uncle  or  my  father,  or  simply 
my  friend,  and  above  all,  when  he  is  likely  to  argue 
much  with  me,  I  prefer  him  to  be  clean  shaven. 
It  gives  me  a  feeling  of  equality. 

When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  wonder  why  a 
man's  words,  however  silly,  always  seemed  to  have 
more  importance  than  a  woman's  words,  however 
wise  ;  and  I  satisfied  myself  that  it  was  because  a 
man's  statements  nearly  always  came  from  under 
a  moustache.  Even  if  he  only  said  how  fine  the 
day  was,  the  fact  that  the  remark  came  from  a 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  55 

mouth  that  had  a  black  or  brown  or  golden  porch 
to  it  gave  it  a  quite  undue  amount  of  weight.  On 
the  other  hand,  when  I  talk  with  men  whose  faces 
are  as  hairless  as  my  own,  I  don't  feel  that  they 
have  any  advantage  over  me.  So,  as  I  often  have 
long  discussions  with  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  I  felt 
quite  sorry  when  he  had  to  get  a  moustache. 

Still,  he  is  my  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  whose 
babyish  and  boyish  weaknesses  I  have  known  and 
loved  so  well. 

As  I  looked  more  and  more  round  the  room,  I 
got  more  reminders  of  his  small-boyish  and  babyish 
times.  Under  the  bed,  with  several  pairs  of  hand- 
some boots,  there  was  the  wreck  of  an  old,  squeaky 
gramophone,  and  the  yet  more  interesting  wreck 
of  a  toy  typewriter,  with  which,  at  the  age  of 
eleven,  he  printed  twelve  numbers  of  a  monthly 
home  magazine  called  "  The  Vallombrosa  Record," 
all  by  himself.  A  dusty  golliwog  and  a  Teddy 
bear  are  jammed  in  among  the  ruins  of  these 
things,  together  with  a  few  feathers  from  the  tail 
of  an  old  life-size  cock  which  used  to  stand  on  the 
night  nursery  mantelpiece. 

I  opened  the  wardrobe.  The  first  thing  that  my 
hand  touched  was  a  tape-measure,  in  the  shape 
of  a  negro's  head,  with  the  tape  coming  out  of  the 
mouth.  And  how  this  thing  brought  back  to  me 
the  Little  Yeogh  Wough  of  six  and  a  half  years 
old! 

One  fine   spring  morning,   my  secretary.   Miss 


56  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Torry,  had  scurried  into  my  study  in  our  London 
house  with  this  thing  in  her  hand  and  her  face 
severe. 

*'  Really,  you  ought  to  begin  training  this  boy's 
moral  character,"  said  she,  speaking  with  the  free- 
dom of  one  who,  though  employed  by  me,  was  yet 
older  than  I.  "  You  see  this  tape  measure.  He 
bought  it  for  a  Christmas  present  for  his  grand- 
mamma because  he  wanted  it  himself,  and  he  felt 
quite  sure  she  would  give  it  back  to  him  as  soon 
as  she  knew  he  wanted  it ;  but  she  didn't,  and  now 
he's  been  up  there  to  Hampstead  and  wheedled  it 
out  of  her.  He's  very  selfish,  you  know,  and  it 
ought  to  be  nipped  in  the  bud.  And  he's  extra- 
vagant with  his  selfishness — and  so  cunning,  too  ! 
Look  at  the  way  he  came  to  you  yesterday  and 
asked  you  for  a  shilling — at  his  age  ! — and  went 
out  and  bought  a  miserable  little  peach  for  ten- 
pence  and  brought  it  to  you  with  a  great  deal  of 
fuss  and  hung  round  while  you  ate  it,  so  that  he 
got  you  to  give  him  quite  nine-tenths  of  it,  and 
then  told  you  all  the  evening  that  he'd  made  you 
a  present  of  a  peach.  Now  this  is  a  tendency 
that  ought  to  be  checked.  Canon  Bloomfield  of 
St.  Margaret's  says  that " 

"It's  all  right,  Miss  Torry.  The  boy  is  not  really 
cunning,  though  he  seems  so.  He  has  a  dear  little 
heart,  and,  in  spite  of  his  tricks,  he  would  give 
his  brown  velvet  eyes  right  out  of  his  head  for 
me. 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  57 

I  put  down  the  old  negro  head  tape-measure 
and  took  up  a  dark  little  overcoat  dating  from  the 
time  when  he  was  seven.  I  had  brought  it  in  here 
out  of  an  old  box,  meaning  to  give  it  away.  It 
was  badly  cut,  and  so  he  had  never  worn  it  much  ; 
because,  even  at  seven  years  old,  he  had  known 
when  a  coat  had  no  style,  and  had  hated  it.  Cer- 
tainly it  used  to  make  him — yes,  even  him — look 
almost  commonplace. 

"  Fancy  the  little  wretch  having  known  at  seven 
years  old  whether  a  thing  made  him  look  common- 
place or  not !  "  I  thought  with  a  laugh  as  I  moved 
the  unsatisfactory  garment  aside. 

He  had  known  at  that  early  age,  too,  whether 
my  own  clothes  were  satisfactory  or  not.  He  had 
always  taken  a  vivid,  throbbing  interest  in  every 
new  garment  I  had  ;  yes,  and  in  every  new  yard 
of  ribbon  and  in  every  spray  of  flowers. 

"  Perhaps  it's  a  good  thing  he  has  met  Vera 
and  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  even  though  he  is  only 
a  boy  still,"  I  said  to  myself  aloud.  "  Such  a 
fellow  as  he  is  might  so  easily  get  into  trouble 
with  the  wrong  woman — especially  now  that  he's 
in  khaki.  There's  so  much  dash  about  him.  I 
should  fall  in  love  with  him  myself  in  five  minutes, 
if  I  were  not  his  mother." 

Falling  in  love  ?  How  absurd  it  seems  in  con- 
nection with  this  boy  whom  I  had  given  to  the 
world,  and  whose  very  early  boyhood  was  only 
such  a  little  way  back  ! 


58  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

My  cook  has  only  been  here  eight  years,  and  yet 
she  remembers  him  as  quite  a  small  boy.  It  makes 
me  laugh  to  think  of  her  amazement  when  I 
mention  that  he  has  a  great  friendship  for  Vera. 

"  Friendship  for  a  young  lady,  mum  ?  What  ? 
Master  Roland  ?  Well,  I  never  did !  What  the  boys 
is  coming  to  in  this  war,  I  don't  know.  And  there's 
the  newspapers  all  advising  'em  to  get  married 
before  they  go  out.  Mischievous  nonsense,  I  call 
it.  What's  the  good  of  getting  married  to  a  man 
who  may  leave  you  a  widow  inside  of  a  month  ? 
Two  or  three  girls  I  know  have  just  done  that,  for 
the  sake  of  getting  the  men's  money.  Downright 
mean,  I  call  it,  and  hard  on  the  taxpayers  that 
have  got  to  keep  the  soldiers'  widows  and  orphans ; 
and  so  I  told  'em.  Of  course,  it's  different  for  your 
sort ;  but  it's  not  right  for  the  likes  of  us.  It's  not 
my  idea  of  gettin'  married,  anyhow,  and  so  I  told 
my  young  man  when  he  was  going  out." 

"But  wouldn't  you  feel  more  sure  of  him, 
Joanna,  if  he'd  married  you  ?  You  see,  if  he  were 
your  husband,  and  not  only  just  your  lover,  you'd 
know  that  you  could  trust  him  out  there,  and  that 
he  wouldn't  be  flirting  with  French  girls." 

But  Joanna  laughed  doubtfully. 

"  I  don't  see  as  that  follows,  mum.  'Usbands 
flirts  just  as  much  as  lovers,  from  what  I've  seen. 
And  I'm  not  afraid  of  my  young  man  flirting,  any- 
how, because  he  isn't  the  sort.  You  see,  he  never 
calls  me  darling  in  his  letters,  or  anything  like 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  59 

that.  If  he  was  to  do  that  kind  of  thing,  then  I 
should  know  that  he  was  very  likely  carrying  on 
with  other  girls.  But  he  only  puts  in  a  '  dear ' 
now  and  then,  and  that's  the  sort  that  you  can 
trust." 

Wise  philosopher  of  the  kitchen  !  If  only  all 
women  would  judge  their  men  as  truthfully. 

"  But  to  think  of  Master  Roland  !  "  the  cook 
began  again. 

Yes,  to  think  of  Little  Yeogh  Wough  beginning 
to  care  for  any  girl  ! 

As  I  went  on  rummaging  in  the  wardrobe,  I  came 
across  a  little  loose  pile  of  letters  which  he  had 
sent  back  from  the  Front.  I  should  never  dream 
in  the  ordinary  way  of  reading  anybody  else's 
letters — I  carefully  avoid  looking  into  his  private 
drawer  in  this  same  piece  of  furniture — but  it 
happens  that  he  told  me  playfully  that  I  could 
read  any  of  the  letters  in  this  particular  little  pile, 
if  I  chose. 

The  first  two  were  from  myself  to  him.  Of 
course  I  might  look  at  those. 

They  bore  signs  of  violent  usage  in  the  opening. 
I  have  a  habit  of  fastening  down  the  flaps  of  my 
envelopes  with  stickphast,  and  then  making  them 
still  more  secure  by  sitting  on  the  letters  in  a 
book.  So  Little  Yeogh  Wough  had  often  told  me 
that,  whenever  he  saw  a  letter  of  mine  arriving,  he 
sent  his  soldier  servant  for  an  entrenching  tool  to 
open  it  with. 


60  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Not  that  he  had  any  right  to  tease  me  on  this 
matter.  For  he  followed  the  same  plan  himself 
in  fastening  letters.  He  always  used  stickphast 
and  he  always  sat  on  the  missives  in  a  book. 

Whenever  we  bought  a  book  that  we  did  not 
enjoy,  we  took  it  to  sit  on  as  a  correspondence 
flattener. 

''  Don't  you  ever  believe  anybody  who  says 
they've  opened  by  mistake  any  letter  that  you'd 
written,"  Little  Yeogh  Wough  said  to  me  once. 
"It's  a  sheer  impossibility." 

The  letter  from  myself  to  him,  which  I  had  just 
taken  up,  was  one  which  he  had  marked  to  be  put 
away  later  on  in  his  despatch  box  for  permanent 
safe  keeping.  I  recognise  it  as  one  that  I  had  written 
at  a  time  when  I  knew  he  was  in  particular  danger. 
Vera  had  made  him  promise  that  when  there 
was  going  to  be  a  great  "  push,"  or  when  any  other 
circumstances  arose  which  materially  increased 
the  ordinary  risk  to  his  life,  he  would  send  her  a 
certain  short  Latin  sentence.  In  an  hour  of  crisis 
he  had  sent  this  sentence,  and  the  anxious  girl,  who 
thought  of  him  all  day  and  dreamed  of  him  all 
night,  had  passed  on  the  warning  to  me. 

A  chill  ran  through  my  blood  as  I  re-read  my 
own  written  words  : 

"  Monday,  27th  Sept,  1915. 

"  My  own  sweet  Little  Yeogh  Wough, — 
"  The   news   from   the   French   front   this 
morning  filled  us  with  joy.    For  a  moment  I  posi- 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  61 

lively  danced.  All  those  thousands  of  German 
prisoners  meant  so  much  !  And  then  a  horrible 
thought  came  to  me  that  it  must  mean  worse  danger 
for  you ;  and  now  a  letter  from  Vera  says  that 
you  have  sent  her  a  few  words — of  which  Big 
Yeogh  Wough  is  perhaps  a  little  jealous — to  say 
that  the  posts  will  be  stopped  very  soon. 

"This  strikes  me  as  very  significant.  It  would 
have  given  me  a  danger  signal,  even  apart  from 
that  '  short  Latin  sentence '  which  I  hear  you 
have  also  sent. 

"  Dearest,  your  Big  Yeogh  Wough,  who  has 
always  been  so  proud  of  you  ever  since  you  have 
been  born,  is  prouder  of  you  than  ever  now.  She 
is  glad  you  are  where  your  duty  of  honour  and 
manhood  demand  that  you  should  be.  You  are 
fighting,  not  only  for  us  and  all  that  we  glory  in, 
but  for  those  who  have  died — and  who  are  all 
your  brothers,  whether  they  were  peers  or  pri- 
vates. I  feel  at  this  moment  that  I  should  like 
to  go  the  round  of  the  whole  army  and  kiss  them 
every  one — but  keeping  always  a  special  kiss  for 
you. 

"But  this  pride  and  this  gladness  don't  prevent 
me  from  being  on  the  rack.  I  have  been  troubled 
for  some  days  past ;  and  I  should  have  written  to 
you  several  times  during  this  interval  in  which 
I  have  been  silent,  if  it  were  not  that  I  have  been 
much  more  than  usually  occupied  with  the  delicate 
steering   of  things   in  general.     But  always  my 


62  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

heart  and  my  thoughts  are  with  you,  my  very 
precious  boy.  I  only  wish  my  love  could  be  of 
use  as  a  talisman,  to  guard  you  against  all  the 
dangers. 

"  Your  always  devoted,  in  all  lives  through 
which  we  may  pass, 

"  Big  Yeogh  Wough. 

"  Your  cake  will  be  sent  off  to  you  to-day.  The 
Bystander  has  just  written  to  you." 

Ah,  thank  God  !  He  came  safely  through  that 
time  of  extra-acute  peril.  If  he  had  not  come 
through  it — what  sort  of  human  wreck  should  I 
be  now  ? 

I  shivered  as  I  put  the  letter  down  with  fingers 
that  were  not  quite  steady. 

Then  I  took  up  another  letter  from  the  pile — a 
letter  with  a  London  postmark  and  with  a  Hammer- 
smith address  for  its  heading. 

"What  a  common-looking,  sloppy  handwriting!'* 
I  thought  as  I  looked  at  it. 

And  the  thing  began  : 

"  You  dear  pigeon  of  a  Roly." 

And  it  was  signed  : 

**  Your  duck  of  a  Queenie." 

And  underneath  the  "  Queenie "  there  were 
actually  crosses  for  kisses,  as  if  the  letter  were 
from  a  tweenymaid  ! 

I  got  a  shock.     Shivers  went  down  my  back. 


THE  BOY'S  TREASURES  68 

What  vulgar  creature  could  this  be  who  had  dared 
to  make  so  free  with  the  purest-minded  and  least 
vulgar  boy  in  all  the  world  ?  Who  was  she  that 
had  taken  advantage  of  him  like  this,  just  because 
he  was  at  large  and  in  khaki  ? 


CHAPTER  V 

GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD  NIGHTS 

I  KNOW  exactly  the  kind  of  woman  this  is. 
Even  in  my  indignation,  I  could  not  help 
half-smiling  as  I  remembered  certain  angry  com- 
plaints made  by  a  fashionable  mother  whom  I  had 
met  at  a  War  charity  meeting. 

"It  really  is  a  shame  that  you  can't  let  your 
fresh-minded  boy  go  out  into  the  world  without 
his  coming  across  snare-laying  women,"  she  had 
burst  out  confidentially.  "The  poor  silly  fellows 
get  quite  led  astray  by  some  of  these  girls  that 
they  meet  where  they're  billeted — shoddy  girls 
with  a  cheap  prettiness  and  cheap  little  openwork 
stockings  and  flashy  haircombs,  and  imitation 
jewellery,  and  no  minds  or  souls.  You  know  the 
sort.  They're  always  hankering  after  small  outings 
and  excitements,  and,  of  course,  they  would  all 
like  to  catch  baby  second  heutenants,  who  may 
one  day  be  something  in  the  world." 

She  had  been  so  much  upset,  this  fashionable 
mother,  that  I  knew  she  must  have  suffered. 

"  What  a  pity  that  this  '  Queenie  '  of  Hammer- 
smith doesn't  know  better  when  she's  wasting  her 
time ! "  I  thought.    "  Why  couldn't  she  see  that  her 

64 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS        65 

'  Roly  '  might  love  a  woman  a  hundred  times  worse 
than  she  is,  but  he  wouldn't  love  her  ?  Anyhow,  he 
ought  to  have  burnt  her  silly  letter.  I  will  see  that 
he  burns  it  when  he  comes  back.  I  will  not  have 
such  stuff  defiling  this  consecrated  room.  .  .  . 
And  yet — I  wonder  if  it  is  the  same  charm  in 
him  that  makes  both  Queenie  and  me  adore 
him  !  " 

For  it  was  certainly  not  because  he  was  my  son 
that  I  was  wrapped  up  in  him. 

"  Why  ever  do  you  think  such  a  heap  of  me  ?  "  he 
had  asked  me  more  than  once.  And  I  had  always 
answered  him  : 

"Because,  my  boy,  you  are  that  strangest  and  most 
wonderful  thing  in  all  the  world — an  interesting 
young  man.  As  a  rule,  the  masculine  person  isn't 
worth  taking  the  least  notice  of  till  he's  thirty — 
except  for  athletics.  I  put  that  down  in  a  diary 
once  when  I  was  a  little  girl  and  I  should  put  the 
same  thing  down  now.  It  quite  takes  one's  breath 
away  to  find  a  boy  who  is  athletic  and  fascinating 
at  the  same  time.  One  feels  that  a  drum  ought 
to  be  beaten  through  the  town.  Do  you  know, 
you  will  even  be  one  of  the  few  persons  whose 
weddings  are  not  dull.  And  weddings,  as  a  rule, 
are  the  dullest  things  that  ever  happen." 

I  had  spoken  so  lightly  and  yet  I  had  meant 
every  word  that  I  had  said. 

No,  I  need  not  be  afraid  that  any  of  the  shoddy, 
mean-souled  women  of  this  world  will  ever  have 


66  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

much  chance  with  a  boy  of  his  sort.  And  if, 
indeed,  he  really  and  deeply  loves  Vera  Brennan, 
the  dream-figure  with  the  amethyst  eyes,  then  she 
is  very  much  to  be  envied  of  other  girls. 

Was  it  for  her  that  he  had  written  the  little 
poem  which  came  to  my  hand  at  this  moment 
among  the  letters,  and  of  which  he  had  sent  one 
copy  to  her  and  one  to  me  ? 

He  had  written  it  in  Ploegsteert  Wood  soon 
after  he  had  gone  out  to  the  Front,  and  the  lines 
were  as  sad  and  as  sweet  as  the  little  dark  blue 
flowers  that  had  made  them  well  up  out  of  his 
heart : 

"  Violets  from  Plug  Street  Wood, 

Sweet,  I  send  you  oversea. 

(It  is  strange  they  should  be  blue. 

Blue,  when  his  soaked  blood  was  red  ; 

For  they  grew  around  his  head. 

It  is  strange  they  should  be  blue.) 

Violets  from  Plug  Street  Wood — 
Think  what  they  have  meant  to  me  ! 
Life  and  Hope  and  Love  and  You. 
(And  you  did  not  see  them  grow 
Where  his  mangled  body  lay, 
Hiding  horror  from  the  day. 
Sweetest,  it  was  better  so.) 

Violets  from  oversea. 
To  your  dear,  far,  forgetting  land  ; 
These  I  send  in  memory. 
Knowing  You  will  understand." 

"  Your  dear,  far,  forgetting  land  !  " 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS       67 

Oh,  the  reproach  in  those  words  !  And  do  we 
not,  most  of  us,  deserve  that  reproach  ? 

I  took  out  his  sword  from  the  drawer  in  which 
I  had  wrapped  it  away  in  silk,  and  I  very  nearly 
bowed  myself  before  it  in  my  passion  of  rever- 
ence. 

Strange  !  That  one  should  regard  as  so  sacred  a 
thing  that  is  meant  to  kill ! 

Of  all  such  things,  it  is  only  the  sword  that 
is  held  holy.  Nobody  reverences  a  revolver, 
while  a  dagger  is  mean  and  sly  and  a  rifle 
is  nothing  in  particular,  like  a  gardening  tool. 
But  a  sword  is  a  glory  and  a  joy,  and  now, 
as  I  handled  the  sword  of  the  boy  of  my  heart, 
I  could  have  laughed  for  sheer  delight  in  all  the 
splendid  things  that  it  stood  for. 

What  a  pity  that  it  should  have  become  a  mere 
show  thing,  wanted  only  on  parade  and  never 
taken  out  to  the  Front ! 

As  I  stood  holding  the  sword,  my  husband  came 
into  the  room  with  a  newspaper  in  his  hand.  He 
is  a  man  who  can  hardly  ever  be  seen  without  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand.  But  this  time  his  face 
showed  that  something  new  and  grave  had  hap- 
pened. 

"  Gretton  is  dead,"  he  announced  to  me.  "  He 
was  killed  by  a  shell  at  Festubert  five  days 
ago." 

I  caught  my  breath  sharply  as  my  eyes  met 
his. 


68  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  Gretton  ?  "  I  exclaimed ;  and  my  voice 
sounded  thin  in  my  own  ears. 

"  Yes."  My  husband  nodded  jerkily.  "  I  don't 
really  like  telling  you  about  it,  but  this  comes 
rather  strangely  on  the  top  of  ugly  dreams  I've 
had  lately.  I  dreamt  four  times  last  week  that  I 
saw  Roland  and  Gretton  coming  along  arm  in 
arm,  laughing  together,  but  looking  more  like  up- 
right dead  men  than  living  flesh  and  blood.  And 
the  queer  thing  about  it  was  that,  though  they 
were  laughing  together,  Roland  was  trying  to  get 
away  from  Gretton,  and  somehow  he  couldn't. 
It  was  as  if  something  that  was  stronger  than  their 
own  will  kept  them  close  to  each  other.  There 
was  something  horrible  about  it." 

I  knew  that  the  blood  was  leaving  my  cheeks 
and  lips  as  I  looked  at  him.  And  yet  this  boy 
Gretton  was  a  person  whom  I  had  never  spoken 
to  in  my  life  ! 

For  the  first  time  for  nearly  three  months,  I 
felt  a  deadly  chill  run  through  me  again,  just  as 
when  Little  Yeogh  Wough  had  first  gone  out  to 
the  Front. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  can't  help  feeling  troubled 
about  this  ?  "  I  heard  myself  saying  in  a  strange 
whisper.  "  It  is  very  silly  of  me,  but  I  can't  help 
feeling  that — that  Gretton  may  be  calling  to  him 
to  follow." 

It  was  not  so  mad  a  thing  as  it  seemed,  this 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS        69 

fear  that  had  just  come  to  me  that  the  boy  Gretton, 
killed  five  days  ago,  might  be  calling  to  the  boy 
of  my  heart. 

Their  lives  had  been  linked  together  in  a  most 
curious  way.  They  had  never  had  any  particular 
liking  for  each  other — indeed,  it  must  have  been 
almost  the  other  way  about,  for  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  had  never  brought  him  to  us  or  gone  to 
his  home — and  yet  in  their  careers  they  had  been 
as  brother  spirits. 

They  had  both  opened  their  eyes  on  life  in  the 
same  year  and  month,  and  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  each  other  in  London.  They  had  both  been  given 
the  Christian  name  of  Roland,  spelt  without  a 
"  w." 

They  met  by  going  to  the  same  preparatory 
school,  and  from  the  hour  of  this  first  meeting 
their  lives  had  run  side  by  side.  They  had  not 
run  quite  neck  and  neck,  for  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
was  always  ahead.  He  got  a  seventy-pound 
scholarship  for  a  certain  great  Public  School,  when 
Gretton  won  a  fifty -pound  one. 

It  was  the  same  with  Oxford,  for  which  they 
both  gained  classical  scholarships.  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  was  always  well  ahead.  Yet,  still,  they 
were  always  together. 

When  the  war  had  come,  they  had  got  their  com- 
missions at  the  same  time.  But  Gretton  had  got 
out  to  the  Front  first. 

"  I  shall  get  out  soon  now  that  Gretton' s  out 


70  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

there,"  Little  Yeogh  Wough  had  said  to  me  con- 
fidently. 

And  he  had  gone  soon,  and  they  had  fought  the 
Germans  side  by  side,  as  they  had  fought  for 
honours  at  school.  And  now  Gretton  had  been 
killed,  and  my  husband  had  dreamed  that  he  saw 
him  walking  with  our  Roland,  arm  linked  in  arm, 
holding  on  to  him  closely  and  refusing  to  let  him 
go. 

"  I  am  a  fool  to  think  anything  of  a  dream,"  I 
told  myself  angrily,  trying  to  thrust  away  from 
me  the  grey  spectre  of  Fear  that  had  risen  up 
before  me  suddenly  in  the  pale  winter  sunlight. 
"  After  all,  what  is  a  dream  ?  It's  a  thing  that 
never  comes  to  a  person  in  perfect  health — except 
once  in  a  way,  when  one  happens  to  be  awakened 
about  half  an  hour  before  one's  proper  time  and 
then  goes  off  into  a  doze.  And  then,  there  is 
Little  Yeogh  Wough' s  lucky  white  lock.  That 
will  keep  him  from  being  killed.  He  will  get 
badly  wounded,  I  dare  say,  but  not  killed — no, 
certainly,  not  killed." 

I  have  not  mentioned  the  boy's  lucky  white  lock 
of  hair  before.  It  was  a  queer  little  white  patch 
in  among  the  gold,  just  over  his  left  ear. 

It  was  Gretton  who,  when  they  went  to  school 
first,  had  called  Little  Yeogh  Wough  a  sixpenny- 
halfpenny  Golliwog. 

"  That  comes  of  doin'  things  by  'alves  with 
Master  Roland's  'air,"  Old  Nurse  had  ventured  to 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS        71 

air  her  opinions.  "  What  I  do  say  is,  if  you've  got 
to  cut  a  boy's  curls  off,  why,  you'd  better  cut  'em 
off,  and  not  'ave  bits  of  'em  left  'anging.  Of 
course,  it's  a  shame,  but  boys  'as  got  to  be  boys, 
and  you  can't  'ave  'em  goin'  to  school  lookin'  like 
them  little  Cupids  in  the  pictures." 

"It's  true  that  an  aureole  of  golden  curls  doesn't 
look  very  well  coming  out  from  under  a  bowler 
hat,"  I  said  to  myself.  Have  you  ever  noticed  that 
there's  hardly  one  grown-up  man  in  a  hundred  that 
can  ever  look  decent  in  a  bowler?  A  man  has 
either  to  be  very  neat -featured  or  else  very  ugly  to 
carry  off  that  sort  of  hat. 

"Them  there  bowlers  is  all  the  go  for  little  boys 
of  Master  Roland's  age,  and  'is  suits  'im  right 
enough,  only  'e  chooses  to  think  as  it  don't,  and 
you  listens  to  'im,"  went  on  the  worthy  old  woman. 
"  'Pon  my  word,  that  there  boy's  vanity  do  beat 
anything  I  ever  come  across  in  all  my  life.  Every 
time  that  I  makes  'im  put  that  bowler  on,  'e  gets 
into  such  a  temper  as  you  never  saw.  'E  thinks 
as  people  laughs  at  'im  for  it,  but  if  they  does 
laugh,  it's  at  'is  fatness,  not  at  his  'at." 

"  That's  because  all  the  rest  of  them  are  such 
skeletons,"  I  rejoined.  "  Any  boy  with  any  flesh 
on  his  bones  at  all  would  look  fat  compared  with 
them.  People  are  so  silly  about  thinness  and  fat- 
ness. They  always  think  of  what  they  look  like 
dressed,  and  never  of  what  they  look  like  undressed. 
Why,  half  the  women  who  go  about  with  a  reputa- 


72  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

tion  for  slimness  and  elegance  would  give  one  a 
start  if  one  saw  their  blade  bones  uncovered !  And 
it's  the  same  with  children." 

"  That  may  be,  ma'am,  but  it  don't  do  away 
with  the  fact  that  these  children  is  all  so  enormous 
that  people  opens  their  eyes  wide  whenever  they 
sees  'em  a-comin'.  As  for  Master  Roland,  I've 
given  'im  up.  'E  'ad  the  coolness  to  say  to  me 
to-day  as  my  'air  was  going  greyer.  I  told  'im 
that  at  my  time  of  life  people  'as  either  to  'ave 
their  'air  go  grey  or  else  come  off,  and  they  aren't 
given  their  choice." 

"  I  suppose  you'd  rather  have  your  hair  absent 
and  black  than  present  and  grey,"  I  answered  her 
without  thinking  what  I  was  saying. 

"  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  you're  a  very  small 
child  still ;  but  I  think  you'll  understand  me 
when  I  tell  you  that  you've  got  to  a  time  in  your 
life  when  you'll  have  to  be  very  careful  about 
holding  on  to  beauty,"  I  said  to  the  Boy  that  night 
when  I  went  in  to  see  him  and  to  have  the  talk 
which  was  as  regular  as  the  coming  of  the  night 
itself.  "  A  girl  can  keep  her  ideas  of  beauty 
always,  but  a  boy  is  supposed  to  drop  his  when  he 
begins  going  to  school.  It's  not  only  the  cutting 
off  of  yellow  curls  that  I'm  thinking  of,  but  other 
things,  too.  You'll  have  to  hide  your  great  love 
for  flowers  and  colour  and  poetry." 

He  looked  puzzled. 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS        73 

"  Mustn't  I  bring  you  flowers  any  more,  Big 
Yeogh  Wough  ?  "  he  laughed  then. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  !  You  can  show  your  love 
for  beautiful  things  just  as  much  at  home  as  ever. 
That's  the  best  side  of  you.  But  you  must  not 
talk  about  it  to  the  boys,  because  they  wouldn't 
understand.  I'll  show  you  what  I  mean  by  telling 
you  of  something  that  your  father  and  I  saw  when 
we  were  in  Paris  last.  We  happened  to  go  into  a 
fashionable  tea-shop,  and  there  we  saw,  sitting 
with  his  mother,  a  boy  who  must  have  been  eleven 
or  twelve  years  old,  in  a  white  satin  suit  complete 
and  with  hair  as  long  as  a  girl's  hanging  down  his 
back,  tied  in  with  white  satin  ribbon.  Now,  you 
know,  we  English  believe  that  a  boy  had  better 
be  dead  than  be  like  that.  Even  I  think  so.  Of 
course,  he  was  like  a  little  prince  in  a  fairy  tale, 
but  everyday  life  isn't  a  fairy  tale,  and  we  don't 
consider  white  satin  and  long  hair  manly.  So  it's 
in  order  to  prevent  anybody  from  thinking  that 
you've  got  any  taint  of  unmanliness  about  you 
that  you  must  make  up  your  mind  now  to  give  up 
pretty  things  for  yourself  and  go  in  for  boyish 
plainness,  and  cricket  and  football.  No  one  must 
ever  think  you  soft  and  flabby." 

"  I  don't  think  anybody  will  ever  do  that,"  he 
laughed  again.  "  I  knocked  one  of  the  boys  down 
to-day  for  being  impudent  to  me.  He  was  a  good 
deal  bigger  than  I  am  ;  so  it's  done  me  a  lot  of 
good  with  the  others." 


74  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

I  took  one  of  his  small,  strong  hands  and  clasped 
it  in  mine  and  held  it  against  my  breast. 

"  Was  this  the  little  hand  that  did  it  ?"  I  laughed. 
"  Because,  if  so,  that  is  splendid.  Those  boys  must 
have  seen  that  golden  curls  and  big  soft  brown  eyes 
can  have  a  good  deal  of  manly  strength  behind 
them  ;  and  people  will  always  respect  your  brains, 
and  even  your  longings  for  the  pretty  things  of 
life,  as  long  as  they  know  you're  strong  enough 
to  knock  them  down  if  you  want  to.  But  you 
must  only  use  your  strength  against  others  who 
are  just  as  strong.  You  must  never  use  it  against 
your  little  sister  and  brother.  Nurse  says  you  have 
been  behaving  badly  in  the  nursery  this  evening — 
interfering  with  the  others  instead  of  doing  your 
home-work.  Why  haven't  you  done  your  prepara- 
tion ?  " 

"  Why,  because  the  master  that's  got  to  see  my 
home-work  won't  be  at  school  to-morrow,  so  it 
would  have  been  all  a  waste.  The  other  boys  said 
they  weren't  going  to  do  theirs." 

"  And  what  difference  does  it  make  to  you 
whether  they  do  theirs  or  not  ?  How  does  it  alter 
your  duty  ?  Why  should  you  cheat  yourself 
because  they  are  silly  enough  to  cheat  them- 
selves ?  " 

The  big  brown  eyes  looked  at  me  blankly.  I 
went  on  : 

"  Don't  you  see,  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  that  it's 
only  yourself  that  you  cheat  when  you  don't  do 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS        75 

your  work  ?  It's  not  your  master.  It  doesn't 
matter  to  him.  He  doesn't  lose  anything.  It's 
you  who  lose.  You've  cheated  yourself  this  evening 
of  something  that  you  might  have  had.  And  you 
haven't  been  thorough.  If  you  neglect  your  work 
often  like  this,  you'll  get  to  slurring  it  over  when 
you  do  it,  so  long  as  you  think  nobody  will  notice 
the  slurring  ;  and  that  won't  do.  That  will  make 
you  grow  up  just  like  most  of  the  other  men  you 
see  around  you,  and  not  the  great,  strong,  wonder- 
ful man  that  I  want  you  to  be." 

He  patted  my  face  and  neck  with  the  hand  that 
I  had  left  free,  as  I  knelt  by  the  bedside. 

"  You  funny  Big  Yeogh  Wough !  Nobody  would 
expect  anyone  who  looks  like  you  to  talk  like 
that,"  he  said  mischievously. 

"  You  wise  little  boy  !  "  I  laughed.  "  No,  I 
suppose  they  wouldn't.  People  always  make  mis- 
takes like  that,  you  know.  One  day  the  world 
will  come  to  see  that  preachers  may  look  very 
bright  and  easy-going — just  as  motherly  women 
with  mob  caps  and  three  chins  are  not  neces- 
sarily the  best  persons  to  trust  to  for  seeing 
that  sheets  are  properly  aired.  Now,  good  night. 
You  must  go  to  sleep." 

I  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it,  placed  the 
screen  by  his  bed  just  where  it  would  shield  him 
from  the  draught  and  from  the  light,  and  went 
towards  the  door.  As  I  reached  it,  he  called  me 
back. 


76  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  Mother,  do  you  think  we  shall  ever  have  a 
war  with  Germany  ?  " 

"  A  war  with  Germany  ?  Why,  yes,  I  suppose 
we  are  pretty  sure  to  have  one  some  day.  But 
whatever  makes  you  ask  that  now  ?  " 

"Oh,  it  was  only  because  I  heard  one  of  the 
masters  talking  about  it ! " 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  need  trouble  about  it 
just  yet,  anyhow.  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is 
to  sleep  well  and  eat  well  and  work  well,  so  as  to 
grow  up  a  fine  man  and  be  able  to  do  something 
worth  doing  in  that  war  when  it  comes — if  it  ever 
does  come." 

When  I  had  left  him  I  stood  for  some  minutes 
shaking  the  door  gently  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
properly  shut  and  that  he  would  not  be  in  a  draught 
all  night. 

I've  always  had  this  curious  difficulty  in  realising 
actual  things,  such  as  whether  I  have  shut  a  door 
or  not,  or  whether  I  have  put  a  jewel  away  in  its 
case  properly.  It  has  always  been  quite  easy  for 
me  to  realise  unseen  things — such  as  a  death  or  a 
fire  that  has  not  yet  occurred,  or  any  sort  of  scene 
at  which  I  have  not  been  present.  I  am  sure  that 
I  sometimes  see  these  more  vividly  than  people 
who  have  actually  witnessed  them  with  their 
bodily  eyes.  But  when  it  comes  to  ordinary  every- 
day facts — ^why,  I  have  stood  irresolutely  by  a 
trunk  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  many  and  many  a 
time,  lifting  the  lid  up  and  down  in  order  to  make 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS       77 

absolutely  sure  that  something  that  I  had  put 
away  in  under  the  lid  was  actually  there  and  had  not 
jumped  out  again. 

It  was  in  this  pernickety  way  (the  word  is  beauti- 
fully expressive)  that  I  always  guarded  Little 
Yeogh  Wough. 

People  accused  me  of  only  loving  him  so  desper- 
ately because  he  was  good-looking.  I  dare  say  his 
looks  went  some  little  way  with  me.  I  have  never 
pretended  that  I  should  devote  myself  to  a  person 
with  a  hare  lip  as  well  as  to  a  person  without  one  ; 
and  certainly  the  boy  of  my  heart,  besides  being 
glorious  to  look  at,  had  a  knack  of  making  people 
surround  him  with  attractive  things  that  added 
to  his  own  attractiveness.  Whenever  he  went  into 
a  shop  to  have  some  plain  and  practical  article 
bought  for  him,  he  managed  to  choose  for  himself 
an  idealised  example  of  the  same  thing,  at  quite 
double  the  suggested  price,  and  have  it  sent  in. 
Prices  meant  nothing  to  him,  and  at  the  age  of 
seven  he  was  not  half  so  good  a  financier  as  his 
sister  of  four. 

"  That  there  boy  *ull  never  'ave  a  penny  in  'is 
pocket  in  all  'is  life,  not  even  if  he  gets  thousands 
a  year,"  Old  Nurse  was  accustomed  to  say  to  my 
secretary,  who  was  a  willing  listener.  "  Money 
burns  'oles  with  'im,  wherever  he  carries  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  Nurse.  But  he  always  spends  it  on 
his  mother.  Look  at  the  flowers  he  buys  her — 
violets  and  carnations,  all  through  the  winter,  and 


78  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

even  roses  !  That's  really  wonderful,  you  know, 
Nurse,  in  the  present  day,  when  children  are  so 
selfish." 

"  M'yes,"  rejoined  Old  Nurse  doubtfully.  "  But 
what  do  'e  do  it  for  ?  It's  just  jealousy ;  that's 
what  it  is,  just  jealousy,  so  as  nobody  else  shan't 
give  'is  mother  anything.  Why,  there  was  Miss 
Clare  yesterday,  she  spent  'er  week's  pocket  money 
buyin'  some  roses  for  'er  mother,  and  'e  'appened 
to  meet  us  comin'  home  with  'em  when  he  was 
walkin'  up  the  road  with  a  schoolboy,  and  what 
did  he  do,  d'you  think  ?  Why,  he  ran  as  'ard  as 
he  could  and  bought  some  carnations  and  got 
'ome  with  them  first  and  gave  them  to  'is  mother  ; 
and  when  the  poor  little  girl  got  in  with  'er  roses, 
she  was  thanked  for  'em,  of  course,  but  they 
wasn't  worn  or  put  on  the  study  table.  They  was 
just  put  away  in  the  back  drawing-room,  where 
nobody  never  goes." 

"  Ah,  that's  it,  you  see ! "  said  Miss  Torry. 
"  But,  of  course,  Nurse,  the  little  girl  ought  to 
have  told  exactly  what  had  happened." 

''  That's  what  I  said  to  'er,  but  she  wouldn't 
do  it.  She's  shy.  And  that  there  Master  Roland, 
'e  do  override  everything  and  everybody.  He's 
that  spoiled  that  there's  no " 

"Oh,  come  now,  Nurse,  you're  as  bad  as  every- 
body else  with  him  !  You  always  say  he's  charm- 
mg. 

*'  Well,  so  'e  is.    I  will  say  this  for  'im — that  he 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS        79 

never  gives  me  a  back  answer.  That  there  Miss 
Clare,  she  could  'old  'er  own  so  far  as  tongue  goes 
with  an  East-End  street  child.  Master  Roland, 
'e  corrects  her  for  it.  'E  says :  '  Now,  Clare, 
you  mustn't  speak  like  that  to  Nurse.'  Then  he 
told  'er  as  somebody  called  George  Meredith, 
that  their  mother  thinks  a  lot  of,  said  he  wanted 
'em  all  to  be  polite  above  all  things." 

"  That's  it,  you  see,"  said  Miss  Torry  again. 
She  was  a  delightful  creature,  but  she  always  felt 
rather  uncomfortable  under  Old  Nurse's  severe 
eye. 

It  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me  why  I  am 
supposed  to  have  spoiled  Little  Yeogh  Wough. 
My  hand  was  always  over  him,  invisibly  keeping 
him  down.  He  had  more  punishments  than  the 
others  had.  But  he  had  a  charm  that  took  the 
sternness  out  of  discipline  and  a  wonderful  knack 
of  knowing  the  right  thing  to  say,  and  when  to  say 
it.  And  he  knew  how  to  give  way  with  a  quite 
princely  grace. 

"  Roland,"  I  said  to  him  one  day,  rejoining  him 
in  the  car  in  which  he  had  been  waiting  for  me 
outside  a  house  where  I  had  been  paying  a  formal 
call.  "  I  have  just  heard  someone  say  a  very  silly 
thing.  She — it  was  a  woman — said  how  much 
more  right  and  proper  it  would  be  if  the 
words  under  the  Prince  of  Wales's  feathers  were  : 
'  /  rule,'  instead  of  *  /  serve.''  You  can  see  the 
silliness  of  that,  can't  you  ?  " 


80  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

He  nodded.  "  You  told  me  one  day  that  '  I 
serve  '  is  much  grander." 

"Of  course  it  is.  Any  empty-headed  cock  on  a 
dirt  heap  can  crow  out  '  I  rule,'  and  it  doesn't 
mean  anything  much  ;  but  it  takes  a  great  man 
to  say  '  I  serve,'  and  when  a  great  man  does  say 
it  you  feel  that  he's  a  king.  You  know,  Little 
Yeogh  Wough,  empty  show  doesn't  mean  much. 
We're  very  fond  of  beautiful  things,  you  and  I, 
but " 

"Oh,  yes!"  he  put  in.  "That's  why  I  asked 
you  to  let  me  come  with  you  to-day,  because  it 
was  the  first  time  you  were  wearing  your  new 
hat." 

"  Yes.  Beautiful  things  are  very  nice  indeed, 
but  they  don't  mean  much.  You  don't  remember, 
do  you,  when  we  took  you  to  the  South  of  France 
and  we  saw  Queen  Victoria  arrive  at  Nice  ?  We 
were  in  a  crowd  of  French  people  and  they  were 
talking  about  the  Queen  and  saying  what  a  mighty 
woman  she  was — Empress  of  India,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  And  then  she  came — a  little  figure  in  a  plain, 
ugly  black  dress,  and  with  what  you  would  have 
called  a  plain,  ugly  old  black  bonnet  on.  She 
wasn't  helped  by  her  clothes  a  bit ;  and  yet  there 
was  something  about  her  that  was  so  great  and  so 
masterful  that  a  hush  went  through  that  French 
crowd,  and  I  knew  that  every  man  and  woman  in 
it  felt  what  I  felt  myself — that  here  was  a  human 
creature  so  truly  queenly  and  so  truly  grand,  that 


GOOD  DAYS  AND  GOOD-NIGHTS       81 

laces  and  furs  and  jewels  would  have  spoiled 
her." 

I  saw  the  big  brown  eyes  that  were  fronting 
mine  suddenly  soften  and  glow. 

"  I  like  a  queen  better  than  a  king,"  he  said  now. 
"  I  should  like  to  fight  for  you  if  you  were  a  queen." 


CHAPTER  VI 

PASSING  SHADOWS 

IT  was  considered  to  be  a  part  of  my  steady 
spoiling  of  Little  Yeogh  Wough  that,  while 
he  was  still  only  seven  years  old,  I  sent  for  him 
to  come  over  to  us  in  Paris,  where  we  were  staying 
for  three  months  at  the  Hotel  Meurice. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  in  order  that  he  might 
not  be  utterly  spoiled  that  I  sent  for  him.  I  had 
very  strong  doubts  as  to  the  discipline  that  was 
being  kept  up  at  the  London  house  by  the  old 
Nurse,  under  the  supervision  of  my  sweet-natured, 
but  too  gentle  and  yielding,  aunt. 

"  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  know  him  for  the 
same  boy  when  he  gets  out  here,"  I  said  to  Miss 
Torry,  who  was  with  us.  "  My  aunt,  you  know, 
is  one  of  those  dear  women  who  always  let  in 
thin  ends  of  wedges  all  round  them,  and  she  will 
have  had  time  in  a  fortnight  to  let  in  a  good  many 
in  his  daily  life." 

My  secretary  looked  grieved. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  have  more  confidence  in 
him  than  that!  He's  so  fine  a  character,  even 
though  he  is  only  seven  years  old,  that  I  don't 
think  he  will  have  changed  just  because  he  may 

82 


PASSING  SHADOWS  83 

have  been  differently  handled.  Besides,  he  does 
worship  you  so  much.  He  wouldn't  do  anything 
to  vex  you  for  the  world." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  it  was  a  little  dangerous 
of  me  yesterday  to  tell  those  French  people  what 
a  wonderful  boy  he  is.  For  one  thing,  it's  always 
silly  to  praise  one's  own  children ;  and  secondly, 
it's  a  mistake  to  praise  anything  or  anybody  to 
people  who  haven't  seen  them  yet.  You  must 
not  even  give  praise  that  is  solidly  true,  because, 
if  you  do,  something  always  happens  to  make  it 
false.  You  say  your  child  has  a  skin  as  clear  as 
the  may-flower,  and  by  the  time  you  show  him  up 
he's  developed  pimples.  It's  the  law  of  Compensa- 
tion again.  It  acts  in  little  things  just  as  in  big 
ones.  Anyhow,  the  boy  is  sure  to  have  sincere 
eyes  and  a  sincere  walk,  and  these  two  things 
will  go  a  long  way.  So  very  few  people  have  sincere 
movements  !  You've  only  to  look  around  this 
hotel  to  see  that." 

"  I  only  hope  he'll  get  here  safely  !  "  breathed 
Miss  Torry,  who  was  always  on  the  look  out  for 
disasters.  "  He's  coming  over  with  an  irrespon- 
sible sort  of  man,  and  accidents  do  happen  so 
easily  that  in  the  present  day  one  can't  be  too 
careful.  A  precious  child  like  that  ought  to  be 
looked  after  by  somebody  that  can  be  trusted. 

Mr.    P can't   be   trusted.     Why,  don't   you 

remember,  he  took  his  own  two-year-old  child 
for  a  drive  somewhere  on  the  East  Coast  last 


84  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

summer  and  it  fell  out  of  the  old  victoria  without 
his  knowing  it,  and  he'd  left  it  on  the  roadside 
quite  a  mile  behind  him  before  he  missed  it  ?  " 

Yes,  this  was  true.  I  had  forgotten  this  incident, 
and  her  recalling  it  to  my  mind  made  me  anxious. 

Still,  this  Mr.  P had  happened  to  be  coming 

over  to  Paris  on  purpose  to  see  me  on  some  business 
matter,  and  the  temptation  to  let  him  bring  out 
the  boy  of  my  heart  had  been  too  strong  to  resist. 

Besides,  the  sight  of  Paris  would  do  much  to 
help  forward  Little  Yeogh  Wough's  education. 

"  How  sorry  he'll  be  to  find  you  so  ill  and  unlike 
yourself !  '*  went  on  Miss  Torry.  (I  had  a  cold  so 
bad  that  it  had  practically  become  bronchitis, 
which,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  usually  happens 
to  me  in  Paris.)  "But  how  delighted  he'll  be  with 
your  new  black  and  white  frock,  and  with  the  hat 
with  violets  !  " 

Yes.  Even  at  that  early  age  he  loved  my  clothes. 
He  loved  them  so  much  that  I  used  sometimes  to 
wonder  if  all  his  devotion  to  myself  would  go  if  I 
were  shabby  and  lived  in  sordid  surroundings.  As 
it  is,  I  ask  myself  now,  in  these  later  days,  whom 
I  should  dress  for  if  he  should  be  killed  in  the 
war. 

His  father  has  the  kind  of  devotion  that  is  not 
exacting  about  clothes,  and  would  burn  with  as 
steady  a  flame  if  its  idol  were  in  sacking  as  if  she 
wore  the  most  marvellous  confections  of  the  French 
man-dressmakers. 


PASSING  SHADOWS  85 

My  racking  fits  of  coughing  would  not  let  me  go 
to  the  station  to  meet  my  treasure  ;  but  I  dressed 
myself  with  as  much  care  to  be  beheld  by  him  as 
if  he  had  been  a  grown  man.  I  wonder  how  many 
mothers  put  themselves  out  to  cultivate  beauty 
for  the  satisfaction  of  sons  of  not  yet  eight  years 
old? 

But  the  beauty  cultivation  was  all  on  my  side 
this  time.  For  when  he  appeared,  marshalled  by 
his  father  and  by  the  friend  who  had  brought  him 
over,  he  wore  his  little  bowler  and  a  badly  cut, 
dark  overcoat  that  he  disliked,  and  his  face  was  so 
sullen  that  the  sight  of  him  gave  me  a  shock. 

"  Nurse  said  I  must  wear  this  coat,  and  Auntie 
said  so,  too,"  he  complained,  as  he  struggled  out 
of  the  objectionable  garment  after  duly  removing 
his  still  more  objectionable  headgear.  "  I've  got 
a  cap  in  my  pocket  that  I  wore  coming  over  in  the 
boat,  but  they  told  me  I  must  put  the  bowler  on 
again  when  I  got  to  the  station  here.  And  I  nearly 
didn't  get  here  at  all.  I  nearly  fell  out  of  the 
train." 

"  Nearly  fell  out  of  the  train  ?  " 

"Lor'!"  exclaimed  Miss  Torry,  throwing  up 
her  hands.  "  I  knew  something  was  going  to  happen. 
Whatever  was  it  ?  " 

The  friend  who  had  brought  the  boy  began  to 
explain,  with  a  miserable  sense  of  guilt.  He  had 
dropped  asleep  in  the  train  on  the  way  to  Paris, 
and  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  wanting  to  explore  the 


86  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

corridor,  had  opened  a  door  which  he  thought  led 
out  into  it,  but  which  was  really  on  the  opposite 
side  and  only  led  out  on  to  the  railway  track 
and  into  the  void  of  the  night.  He  had 
been  in  the  very  act  of  stepping  down  out 
of  the  train,  which  was  going  at  seventy-five  miles 
an  hour,  when  a  Frenchman  sitting  in  the  compart- 
ment jumped  up  and  sprang  forward  and  clutched 
at  him — saving  him  by  a  second's  space  only  from 
what  must  have  been  certain  death  ! 

Strange  !  To  think  as  I  look  back  now  that,  by 
this  act  of  saving  an  English  child,  that  unknown 
Frenchman  saved  a  soldier  who  was  to  help  to 
defend  France  against  the  next  great  onslaught  of 
the  Germans  ! 

"  I  told  you  so,'*  said  Miss  Torry  to  my  husband 
and  me,  when  our  unlucky  friend  had  retired  to 
get  ready  for  dinner.  "  I  told  you  that  man  wasn't 
a  fit  person  to  have  the  charge  of  a  child — and 
such  a  child  as  that.  What  a  mercy  that  French- 
man had  his  wits  about  him  !  One  can't  be  too 
careful  whom  one  trusts  children  with  in  the  present 
day." 

"  And  I  told  you  that  the  boy  would  be  changed," 
I  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  so  that  Little  Yeogh 
Wough,  who  had  run  into  the  next  room,  might 
not  hear.  "  He's  not  my  boy  at  all.  The  difference 
is  perfectly  amazing." 

Miss  Torry  threw  up  her  hands  again. 

"  That's  it,  you  see.     I  knew  how  it  would  be 


PASSING  SHADOWS  87 

directly  he  got  under  your  aunt's  influence,  I 
knew  she'd  let  him  have  his  way  in  everything. 
And  Old  Nurse,  too !  I  always  did  feel  that  it's 
never  any  good  trusting  anybody  who's  got  a  long 
upper  lip.  Well,  now  I'll  go  and  see  that  he  washes 
his  face  and  hands  properly.  He  actually  hasn't 
said  yet  that  he's  sorry  you've  got  such  a  dreadful 
cold.    I'll  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him." 

And  she  whisked  into  the  inner  room. 

"  I  believe  a  good  deal  of  his  disagreeableness 
comes  from  that  overcoat,"  I  said  to  my  husband. 
"  He  feels  that  he's  looking  his  worst  in  it,  and  he 
can't  be  himself  when  he  feels  that.  It's  all  Old 
Nurse's  fault.  She  said  he'd  better  not  have  a  fawn 
cloth  one,  because  his  vanity  must  be  checked  at 
any  cost." 

Ah  !  The  dear  boy  !  How  vain  he  was  when  he 
first  put  on  his  khaki  eleven  years  afterwards  ! 

When  his  bedtime  came,  on  this  his  first  evening 
in  Paris,  he  did  not  get  up  to  say  good  night  when 
told  to  do  so. 

"  Roland,  I  told  you  to  go  to  bed.  Did  you  hear 
me  ?    Put  your  things  away  at  once." 

He  lifted  his  big  brown  eyes  with  rebellion 
showing  in  them  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

"  Auntie  doesn't  mind  whether  I  go  to  bed  when 
she  tells  me  to  or  not." 

"  Oh,  doesn't  she  ?  I  see  it  was  time  I  had  you 
brought  over  here.  You  will  put  your  things 
away  instantly  and  go  to  bed." 


88  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Clearly  he  knew  the  something  in  my  voice  which 
told  him  that  obedience  would  be  enforced  at  once 
and  to  the  uttermost.    And  he  rose  and  went. 

And  yet  people  have  always  accused  me  of 
spoiling  him  ! 

"  You  see,  Little  Yeogh  Wough,"  I  explained  to 
him  in  one  of  our  good- night  talks  more  than  a 
week  later.  "  I  want  you  to  grow  up  to  be  a  real 
man,  and  not  a  sham  one.  That  is  why  you  must 
obey.  Suppose,  when  you  grow  up,  you  became 
a  soldier — an  officer — and  you  were  ordered  to 
take  your  men  to  a  certain  spot  on  a  battlefield  by 
a  certain  time,  and  you  said  to  yourself  in  a  slouchy 
way  that  a  minute  late  in  starting  or  arriving 
wouldn't  matter.  Well,  then,  do  you  know  what 
would  happen  ?  Things  would  go  wrong  in  that 
battle,  and  very  likely  your  men  would  be  shot 
down  by  the  guns  of  your  own  people  ;  because, 
you  see,  the  order  would  have  been  given  to  fire 
just  when  you  were  due  to  have  cleared  out  of  a 
certain  place — and  if  you  haven't  cleared  out  you 
yourself  are  to  blame  for  any  mischief  that  is  done. 
And  it's  the  same  in  life.  There's  a  plan  in  every- 
thing, if  you  look  for  it,  and  if  we  are  disobedient 
and  don't  keep  time,  we  put  that  plan  all  wrong." 

But  that  first  night  I  did  not  have  a  good-night 
talk  with  him  at  all.  He  did  not  ask  me  to  come 
and  see  him  in  bed,  though  before  I  left  home  he 
had  been  heartbroken  at  the  prospect  of  my 
nightly  talks  with  him  being  interrupted.    For  a 


PASSING  SHADOWS  89 

further  and  shocking  proof  of  his  new  naughtiness 
had  come  to  light. 

Miss  Torry,  searching  in  the  pockets  of  his  in- 
elegant and  despised  overcoat,  had  pulled  forth 
something  which  drew  from  her  a  louder  "  Lor' !  " 
than  ever  I  had  heard  her  utter  before.  She  held 
the  something  up  and  revealed  a  long  thick  tress 
of  coppery  brown  hair. 

"  Roland !  "  I  exclaimed.    "  What  is  that  ?  " 

"It's  a  piece  of  Clare's  hair,"  he  told  us,  at  once 
and  quite  frankly.  Even  in  his  worst  moods  I  never 
knew  him  tell  an  untruth.  "  I  cut  it  off  just  before 
I  came  away  from  home,  so  I  hadn't  time  to  put 
it  anywhere  but  in  my  pocket.  I  did  it  because 
she  wouldn't  let  me  do  cooking  on  her  toy  kitchen 
range,  that  works  with  methylated  spirit.  I  just 
got  my  scissors  quickly  and  cut  it.  Nobody  knew 
I  did  it,  though  I  dare  say  Nurse  has  found  out 
by  now.'* 

"  Oh,  Roland  !  " 

My  reproachful  exclamation  was  accompanied 
by  a  stream  of  reproaches  from  the  horrified  Miss 
Torry.  I  remembered  then  that  all  through  his 
few  short  years  hitherto  Little  Yeogh  Wough  had 
shown  a  great  interest  in  cooking.  And  he  had 
never  even  seen  the  kitchen,  or  any  part  of  the  base- 
ment, of  his  London  home  yet.  He  had  called  the 
basement  "  Griffiths' s  Dark,"  when  he  was  two  and 
a  half,  because  Griffiths  was  the  name  of  the  cook 
who  reigned  there  at  that  time  ;  and  the  name  had 


90  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

stuck.  We  had  all  spoken  of  the  basement  ever 
since  as  "  Griffiths' s  Dark." 

And  so  his  curious  leanings  towards  cooking  had 
led  him  to  such  a  breach  of  good  conduct  as  the 
cutting  off  of  a  goodly  portion  of  his  four-and-a-half- 
year-old  sister's  hair  because  she  would  not  let  him 
use  her  toy  range  with  methylated  spirit ! 

In  very  deed  he  had  fallen  from  grace  during 
this  fortnight  of  lax  discipline. 

"  Roland,"  I  said,  "  I  would  give  you  a  whipping 
for  this  if  I  had  actually  caught  you  doing  it,  or 
had  been  told  of  it  at  once.  But,  as  things  are,  I 
will  punish  you  in  another  way.  I  will  not  come 
and  see  you  in  bed  for  a  whole  week.  I  am  very 
much  hurt  indeed.  I  did  not  think  you  could  ever 
behave  so  badly." 

He  said  nothing.  But  his  lips  quivered  and  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

He  was  to  sleep  in  a  little  room  opening  out  of 
mine  and  his  father's.  I  meant  at  first  not  to  go 
in  there  at  all,  but  on  second  thoughts  I  simply 
went  in  and  saw  that  his  bedclothes  were  properly 
arranged.  I  did  not  say  a  second  good  night  to 
him,  but  came  away  as  if  the  person  in  the  bed 
were  a  total  stranger  to  me. 

"  Are  you  going  so  soon  ? "  His  voice  came 
after  me  rather  piteously.  "  Aren't  you  going  to 
talk  to  me  ?  " 

"  Not  to-night,  Roland.  You  know  that,  be- 
cause I  said  so.    You  must  go  to  sleep  now." 


PASSING  SHADOWS  91 

"  Won't  you  call  me  Little  Yeogh  Wough  ?  "  he 
persisted  wistfully. 

"  No.  You're  not  Little  Yeogh  Wough  to-night. 
You're  not  the  same  boy  that  I  left  when  I  came 
away  from  home.  You're  only  Roland.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is.  You  used  to  keep  your  true  self 
when  you  went  away  from  me,  but  this  time  you've 
lost  it.  I  suppose  a  fortnight  has  been  too  long. 
Now  go  to  sleep  !  " 

"  They've  taken  all  the  romance  out  of  him," 
I  said  to  Miss  Torry,  when  I  got  back  to  the  sitting- 
room. 

"Lor'!"  she  exclaimed.  And  up  went  her 
hands  again  until  she  looked  like  a  surprised  angel. 
"  The  things  that  are  going  on  in  that  house  ! 
They've  got  the  puppies  all  indoors,  messing  up 
the  whole  place ;  and  the  cook's  given  notice,  because 
Roland  has  been  up  into  her  room  and  made  her 
window  so  that  it  won't  shut — in  this  weather, 
too  ! — because  he  wanted  to  rig  up  a  toy  telephone 
between  there  and  one  of  the  servants'  room 
windows  in  the  next  house.  He  says  the  boy 
next  door  is  allowed  to  do  what  he  likes,  so  he 
doesn't  see  why  he  himself  shouldn't  be.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Well,  you'll  have  to  take  him  out  of  my  way 
to-morrow.  Miss  Torry.  Take  him  round  and  show 
him  Paris.  I'll  work  by  myself.  Strange,  that  he 
should  have  altered  so  much  in  a  fortnight !  But 
that's  just  because  he's  not  commonplace.     Com- 


92  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

monplace  people  can't  rise,  but  they  can't  sink, 
either.  It  takes  a  person  with  something  great 
in  him  to  get  down  low." 

So  Little  Yeogh  Wough  was  taken  by  Miss  Torry 
round  Paris,  and  he  also  went  with  me  into 
shops  and  to  do  business  in  post  offices,  and  quite 
learned  the  ways  of  the  place  and  of  the  people. 
But  it  made  my  cold  worse. 

"  Never  mind,"  I  said.  "  My  having  a  bad  cold 
like  this  means  that  my  new  photographs  will  be 
good.  I  always  pay  for  a  good  photograph  with  an 
illness.  I  know  I  should  pay  for  a  good  oil-painting 
portrait  with  my  death." 

Little  Yeogh  Wough  wrote  and  told  my  dear 
friend  Mrs.  Croy  how  he  was  getting  on.  And 
Mrs.  Croy  responded  by  sending  coals  to  Newcastle 
in  the  shape  of  an  enormous  box  of  chocolates. 

Mrs.  Croy  was  a  really  darling  creature  of 
eighty-nine  who  dressed  with  a  view  to  looking 
nineteen,  and  she  had  a  high  opinion  of  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  because,  as  she  said,  he  was  the  only 
child  living  who  had  been  nice  to  her. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  was,  that  she  was  a  diffi- 
cult person  for  a  child  to  be  "  nice  "  to,  for  the 
reason  that  she  apparently  did  her  making-up 
without  looking  in  the  glass,  and  so  was  often  to 
be  found  with  an  eyebrow  coming  down  one  side  of 
her  cheek  and  some  rouge  on  her  chin  or  on  her 
forehead.  Irreverent  children  had  been  accustomed 
to  make  remarks  on  these  peculiarities,  as  also  on 


PASSING  SHADOWS  93 

the  fact  that  the  colour  of  her  wig  changed  every- 
day ;  but  the  boy  of  my  heart,  who  Hked  her, 
would  not  have  appeared  to  notice  the  matter 
if  she  had  come  before  him  without  her  head. 
And  for  this  she  was  so  grateful  that  she  loved 
him  passionately. 

I  loved  her,  too.  It  is  astonishing  how  lovable 
women  who  make  up  badly  usually  are. 

It  was  astonishing,  too,  how  much  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  loved  women.  He  loved  everybody  and 
everything,  for  that  matter,  with  a  great  and  deep 
love  and  sympathy  ;  such  a  love  and  sympathy  as 
led  him,  for  instance,  to  get  out  of  his  warm  little 
bed  one  gloomy  and  bone-chilling  morning  of  a 
London  winter  and  labour  for  hours  in  the  sodden 
garden  to  get  into  shelter  some  newly  born  puppies 
who  were  exposed  to  the  icy  rain.  But  most  of  all 
he  loved  women. 

He  loved  them  in  a  tender,  caressing,  worship- 
ping way,  and  he  loved  everything  connected  with 
them  ;  frocks,  hats,  dainty  shoes  and  long  suede 
gloves,  beautiful  furs  and  scents,  and  pots  of  powder 
and  sweet-smelling  soaps  and  creams.  He  could 
never  understand  how  the  ordinary  boy  did  not 
care  for  these  things.  He  liked  to  go  out  shopping 
with  me  more  than  almost  anything  else  in  the 
world,  and  he  hated  it  when  his  regular  day-school 
life  prevented  him  from  doing  so. 

"  He  won't  be  one  of  the  men  who  are  not 
interesting  to  talk  to  until  they  are  thirty,"   I 


94  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

said  to  Miss  Torry  many  a  time  as  the  months 
passed  and  I  saw  his  character  shaping  itself.  "  If 
he  goes  on  as  he's  doing  now  he'll  be  a  most  fas- 
cinating man  with  women,  even  in  his  early 
twenties." 

"  That's  what  I'm  always  telling  people,"  replied 
my  secretary.  "  And  he'll  be  very  manly  with 
it.  I  can't  understand  how  it  is  some  people  can't 
think  a  boy  manly  unless  he's  always  stumping 
about  in  the  thickest  boots  and  talking  about 
cricket  and  football." 

"Oh,  they're  all  manly!"  I  said.  **But  I 
always  think  the  refined  and  clever  ones  are 
really  the  manliest  and  bravest.  Just  as  it  is 
always  the  people  brought  up  in  luxury  that  can 
live  a  rough  life  most  successfully.  A  man  came 
to  me  the  other  day  and  said  he  wanted  to  marry, 
but  he  didn't  want  to  choose  a  lady  because  he 
was  going  out  to  Canada  and  he  wanted  to  rough 
it ;  and  I  told  him  that  he  was  making  a  mistake 
and  that  if  he  really  wanted  somebody  who 
would  do  hard  and  even  degrading  work  he 
must  get  a  lady  above  all  things,  and  that  the 
more  softly  brought  up  she'd  been  the  better 
she'd  do  the  nastiest  jobs.  You  can  never  get  a 
servant  to  clean  up  after  a  dog,  but  you'll  see 
duchesses  doing  it  by  the  dozen  at  fashionable 
dog  shows.  And  boys  and  men  are  like  that.  It 
isn't  always  the  hulking  footballer  who  will  volun- 
teer first  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope." 


PASSING  SHADOWS  95 

The  night  on  which,  at  the  Paris  hotel,  I  said 
Yes  once  more  to  Little  Yeogh  Wough's  cry  of: 
"  Come  and  see  me  in  bed,  mother  !  "  is  a  night 
which  I  shall  never  forget. 

There  was  gaiety  all  round  us  in  the  great  build- 
ing, from  whose  courtyard  there  came  up  to  us 
sounds  of  voices  and  laughter  mingling  with  the 
roll  of  carriages  and  the  clatter  of  cars.  But  we 
were  too  happy  to  be  gay.  Our  heads  were  resting 
on  the  same  pillow  and  the  boy  of  my  heart  was 
patting  my  cheek  with  one  small,  but  very  strong 
and  brown  hand. 

"  It's  so  nice  to  have  you  come  in  and  talk  to  me 
again,  Big  Yeogh  Wough,"  he  said  a  little  trem- 
blingly. 

''  Yes.  It  is  very  nice,"  I  agreed.  "  You  won't 
drive  me  away  from  you  again,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I'll  be  good.  It's  been  perfectly  beastly 
having  you  angry  with  me.  And  to-morrow  you'll 
let  me  buy  you  some  flowers,  won't  you  ?  I've  got 
enough  of  my  pocket  money  to  buy  some  tulips. 
Oh,  it's  very  early  for  them,  I  know,  and  they'll 
cost  a  lot ;  but  it  pays  to  get  them,  because  they  die 
so  prettily.  Other  flowers  look  ugly  when  they're 
dying,  but  tulips  don't." 

"  That's  their  Compensation  for  looking  vulgar 
when  they're  alive,"  thought  I.  But  I  did  not  say  so. 

And  then  we  began  to  sing  together,  very  low, 
a  little  song  of  the  French  navy,  which  I  had 
taught  him  a  few  months  before. 


96  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Oh,  the  joyous  freedom  and  swing  that  he  put 
into  that  song — he,  a  small  child,  lying  there  in 
bed  and  singing  ! 

Two  or  three  months  later,  when  we  had  left 
Paris  and  were  at  home  again  in  London,  I  got  an 
example  of  his  courage. 

Ever  since  he  had  been  going  to  school  and  so 
had  been  out  of  reach  of  the  care  of  nurses,  he  had 
had  cold  after  cold.  Much  good  did  it  do  for  me 
to  live  a  life  of  perpetual  watchfulness  in  the  house, 
taking  care  that  he  should  get  continual  fresh  air 
without  any  draughts,  when  at  his  school  there 
was  no  watch  kept  and  he  was  allowed  to  sit  for 
hours  between  two  open  windows,  or  between  an 
open  window  and  an  open  door  !  So  the  colds 
went  on  into  tonsilitis,  and  at  last  he  was  very  ill 
and  had  to  have  a  serious  operation. 

The  anaesthetist  who  came  from  one  of  the  Lon- 
don hospitals  to  administer  the  chloroform  was  a 
man  with  one  of  the  gentlest  and  kindest  of  faces, 
and  yet  somehow  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  though 
he  had  been  told  nothing,  knew  from  the  first  that 
this  man's  coming  boded  him  no  good.  He  ran  to 
me  to  protect  him,  showing  an  infinite  trust  in  me 
that  in  a  way  was  heart-breaking.  And  then  I 
realised  that  for  the  first  time  a  situation  had 
come  about  in  which  I  could  not  help  him,  but  in 
which  he  had  to  face  whatever  there  might  be  of 
pain  and  risk  quite  alone  and  unhelped,  like  a 
grown  man. 


PASSING  SHADOWS  97 

I  told  him  this,  and  for  a  moment  his  brown 
wistful  eyes  met  mine  with  a  look  in  them  which 
I  shall  never  forget.  Then  he  turned  and  went 
over  to  the  table  that  had  been  made  ready  for  the 
operation,  and  lay  down  upon  it,  saying  quietly  : 

"I'm  quite  ready." 

That  is  the  way  in  which  he  will  meet  torture 
and  death  if  they  come  to  him  before  his  part  in 
this  war  is  over.  He  will  steady  the  shrinking  of  his 
sensitive  nerves  and  will  look  at  the  danger  and 
measure  it  and  then  say  bravely  :  "  Now  let  come 
what  has  to  come.    /  am  quite  ready.*' 

Oh,  if  I  could  have  foreseen  in  those  days  how 
much  of  pain  and  terror  would  face  him  in  the 
years  to  come  that  I  could  not  save  him  from  ! 

It  happened  often  just  then  that  the  children 
made  railway  journeys  on  which  I  did  not  accom- 
pany them.  I  ought  to  have  felt  a  sense  of  domestic 
freedom  at  their  going — for  I  am  a  person  who 
hates  a  home  to  be  an  establishment,  full  of  chil- 
dren and  servants  and  expenses — but  instead  of 
this,  tremors  used  to  seize  upon  me  as  to  what 
might  happen.  For  Little  Yeogh  Wough  in  par- 
ticular I  was  afraid,  as  he  was  the  sensitive  one. 
The  idea  of  his  being  at  the  mercy  of  horses  or 
motor-cars  or  the  mechanism  of  a  train  was 
horrible  to  me. 

His  sister,  aged  five,  always  gave  people  the  im- 
pression that  she  could  look  after  herself  in  any 
circumstances.    His  younger  brother,  aged  two,  was 


98  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

a  baby  still.  But  Little  Yeogh  Wough  himself, 
all  wistfulness  and  appealing  grace,  with  the 
haunting  sadness  always  in  his  brown  eyes — what 
would  his  sufferings  be  if  any  accident  brought 
harm  to  him  and  I  was  not  there  ? 

I  used  at  these  times  to  go  to  the  piano  and  play 
to  myself  in  order  to  drive  away  my  fears.  I 
played  dance  music  and  coon  songs,  though  I  ought 
to  have  known  that  these  are  the  saddest  things 
in  the  world — far  sadder  than  any  Dead  Marches 
in  Saul.  I  can  hear  myself  now  singing :  "  The 
Lonesome  Coon  "  : 

**  Dancing,  I'll  pass  de  time  away, 
Fluttering  my  nimble  toes. 
While  I'm  waiting,  weary  waiting. 

For  de  sossiest  little  girl  I  knows.  ..." 

Then  I  stopped,  with  my  fingers  on  the  keys  of 
the  piano,  and  thought : 

"  What  if  indeed  there  were  a  railway  accident 
and  he  were  killed  ?    How  should  I  bear  it  ?  " 

And  then  I  found  myself  singing  something  else  : 

*•  Fear  no  more  the  heat  of  the  s\in  nor  the  furious  winter's 
rages." 

"  Yes,"  I  went  on  thinking,  "  after  all,  if  he  were 
killed  in  a  railway  accident  or  in  some  other 
sudden  way,  I  should  at  least  never  have  to  feel 
afraid  of  anything  for  him  again.  I  should  not 
have  to  wonder  how  he  would  front  the  world  if 


PASSING  SHADOWS  99 

anything  were  to  happen  to  his  father  and  to  me. 
I  should  know  that  the  brave  httle  heart  and  the 
joyous  Uttle  soul  behind  the  sad  brown  eyes  were 
safe." 

But  what  was  the  use  of  giving  myself  over  like 
this  to  the  worship  of  a  child  ? 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  me  that  just  about  this 
time  he  began  to  get  more  matter-of-fact.  Any- 
how, he  was  less  of  a  picture  and  more  of  an 
ordinary  rascal  of  a  boy  when,  soon  after  his  thir- 
teenth birthday,  we  took  him  with  us  on  a  little 
journey  by  sea  to  Russia. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  MOTTO  TO  STEER  BY 

THE  reason  for  his  looking  less  like  a  picture 
was  that  for  two  or  three  months  he  had  to 
Wear  glasses.  The  beautiful  brown  velvet  eyes, 
with  their  curling  dark  lashes,  were  not  strong. 

I  wonder  why  it  is  that  spectacles  spoil  the  look 
of  ninety-nine  faces  out  of  a  hundred,  whereas 
pince-nez  give  an  air  of  style  and  importance  ? 

Pince-nez  make  a  poor  man  look  well  off,  while 
spectacles,  even  with  gold  rims,  can  always  be 
thoroughly  depended  on  to  make  a  multi-million- 
aire look  poor.  On  the  other  hand,  spectacles  are 
honest,  while  eye-glasses  suggest  sharpness  in  the 
ways  of  the  world  and  much  toughness  of  con- 
science. Nothing  could  ever  make  me  believe  that 
a  man  who  wears  pince-nez  has  really  repented 
of  his  sins. 

With  women,  of  course,  it  is  not  quite  the  same. 
No  woman,  however  big  a  fool  she  might  be,  would 
ever  take  even  to  pince-nez  with  a  view  to  improv- 
ing her  personal  appearance. 

It  was  partly  to  comfort  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
for  his  mortification  at  having  to  wear  spectacles 
for  a  time  that  we  yielded  to  his  appeal  that  he 
might  be  taken  with  us  to  Russia. 

100 


A  MOTTO  TO  STEER  BY  lol 

"He  might  be  left  at  home.  He's  sensible 
enough  now  to  manage  the  servants  and  the  house 
and  the  dogs  and  everything  for  us,  instead  of  need- 
ing to  be  looked  after  himself,"  his  father  said. 

"  Yes,  in  some  moods,"  I  agreed.  "  He  is,  of 
course,  the  best  disciplined  and  most  responsible 
boy  at  his  school.  He  seems  to  be  even  better 
disciphned  and  more  responsible  than  the  all- 
Scotch  boys,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal.  But  he 
has  times  when  he  needs  holding  in.  After  that 
day  last  week,  for  instance,  you  can't  say  that  he 
is  entirely  trustworthy." 

This  mention  of  the  "  day  last  week  "  had  to  do 
with  an  unforgettable  incident.  The  day  had  been 
a  lovely  one  of  blue  sky  and  blue  sea  and  high 
shining  sun,  and  yet  all  through  the  long  and 
glorious  hours  Little  Yeogh  Wough  had  sat  in  the 
house  copying  page  after  page  out  of  a  history 
book.  For,  thirteen  years  old  though  he  was,  he 
yet  had  so  far  forgotten  himself  as,  in  a  fit  of 
anger,  to  shake  pepper  out  of  a  large  pepper-pot 
over  his  sister's  head  and  face  at  the  very  great 
risk  of  blinding  her. 

I  had  been  doubtful  at  first  between  the  respec- 
tive advantages  of  a  whipping  and  the  writing  out 
of  these  pages  of  history ;  but  I  decided  at  last 
on  history  because  he  was  backward  in  this  par- 
ticular subject,  and  also  because  the  sitting  still  for 
hours  would  be  the  greater  punishment  to  him. 

"  You    know,    Roland,    this    would    not    have 


102  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

happened  if  I  had  been  at  home,"  I  said  to  him. 
"  Why  did  it  happen  because  I  was  out  ?  " 

"  They  aggravate  me,'*  he  said  simply. 

I  knew  how  it  had  been.  Old  Nurse,  devoted 
though  she  was,  was  of  no  use  whatever  for  a 
child  with  a  temperament,  and  had  not  perceived 
the  psychic  moment  when  it  was  necessary  to  send 
him  out  of  the  nursery.  I  should  have  felt  it  in  my 
blood  if  I  had  been  there,  and  the  whole  ugly 
affair  would  not  have  happened. 

"  You  see  the  justness  of  your  punishment, 
don't  you,  Roland  ?  " 

"  You're  always  just.  Big  Yeogh  Wough.  I've 
never  known  you  unjust  yet." 

So  he  had  set  himself  to  his  pages  of  history,  all 
through  the  long  and  lovely  summer  day. 

He  said  once,  later  on,  that  I  had  never  broken 
a  promise  to  him,  either.  I  had  always  been  care- 
ful never  to  make  one  which  I  was  not  humanly 
sure  of  being  able  to  keep.  For  promises  broken 
to  children  are  greater  crimes  than  many  that  are 
punished  at  the  Old  Bailey. 

So  we  had  not  been  sure  in  any  case  about  leav- 
ing Little  Yeogh  Wough  at  home ;  and  when  he 
pleaded  to  go  with  us  on  board  the  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  liner  that  was  to  take  us  and  certain 
others  on  her  maiden  trip  in  the  Baltic,  we  gave  way 
far  more  easily  than  he  might  have  expected. 

"  Would  you  have  been  very  miserable  if  we 
had  said  No  to  you,  Roland  ?  "  I  asked  him. 


A  MOTTO  TO  STEER  BY  103 

"  No.  I  should  have  been  sorry,  but  I  should 
have  remembered  that  text  that  you're  always 
saying." 

"  Text  ?  "    I  lifted  my  eyes  in  surprise. 

"  Yes.  You  know,  that  one  :  '  Blessed  are  they 
that  expect  nothing,  for  they  shall  not  be  dis- 
appointed.' " 

"  That's  not  a  text.  It  ought  to  be,  but  it 
isn't.  But  it's  a  very  good  motto  to  steer  through 
life  by.  The  thing  to  do  is  always  to  expect 
nothing,  but  to  try  for  everything." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  on  a  certain  Friday 
morning  in  August  the  brave  little  feet  of  the  boy 
of  my  heart  walked  for  the  first  time  on  the  deck 
of  a  big  ship. 

I  am  superstitious — nearly  as  superstitious  as 
Napoleon  was.  Little  Yeogh  Wough  has  always 
known  this  well,  for  all  through  his  life,  from  two 
years  old,  he  has  been  careful  never  to  bring  any 
hawthorn,  ivy,  or  peacock's  feathers  into  the  house, 
and  has  always  made  the  flower-women  selling 
snowdrops  strip  the  ivy  from  the  bunches  he  had 
bought  for  me.  I  will  not  sing  before  breakfast, 
and  I  will  not  have  three  candles  burning  in  the 
room,  and  I  would  not,  under  any  pressure,  have  a 
new  house  built  for  me  or  even  have  an  old  house 
considerably  altered.  For  this  I  know  is  true, 
whatever  else  in  superstition  may  be  nonsense — 
that  whoever  builds  a  new  home  for  himself  and 
takes  a  pride  in  it,  shall  have  something  terrible 


104  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

happen  to  him  which  will  prevent  him  from  enjoy- 
ing his  life  in  that  home,  even  if  he  should  ever  get 
so  far  as  to  live  in  it.  For,  even  in  the  days  when 
I  had  not  been  stricken  to  the  earth  and  did  not 
believe  in  the  Bible,  I  had  always  believed  in  the 
truth  of  the  words  : 

"  Fools  build  houses  and  wise  men  live  in  them." 

One  only  has  to  read  about  the  lives  of  the  great 
millionaires  to  have  proof  that  this  is  so. 

But  I  am  quite  open-minded  about  Fridays.  If 
anything,  I  think  Friday  is  a  luckier  day  for  me 
than  any  other  day.  I  also  have  a  fixed  conviction 
that  neither  I,  nor  any  of  those  nearest  to  me,  is 
born  to  die  by  the  quite  easy  and  pleasant  method 
of  drowning.  So  we  started  on  a  Friday  without 
a  qualm. 

And  I  did  not  dream  that,  even  as  he  ran  about 
this  deck  and  began  to  live  this  new  life,  he  was 
starting  on  another  stage  of  his  training  for  a 
soldier ! 

"  What  a  lot  of  portraits  of  the  Kaiser  we've 
seen ! "  he  said  to  me  one  day,  when  his  feet  had 
covered  most  of  the  cubic  space  of  Amsterdam, 
Christiania,  Copenhagen,  and  Stockholm. 

I  laughed.  "  We  really  have  seen  a  good  many, 
haven't  we  ?  But  you  don't  mind  that,  do  you  ? 
I  thought  you  rather  liked  his  personal  appear- 
ance." 

"  Well,  he  did  look  very  fine  at  the  funeral  of 
Queen  Victoria.     I  always  remember  that.     But 


A  MOTTO  TO  STEER  BY  105 

I  don't  see  why  he  should  be  all  over  the  place  in 
these  countries  that  don't  belong  to  him." 

In  a  palace  in  Stockholm  his  inevitable  picture 
occupied  an  especially  conspicuous  position  on  the 
wall  of  a  certain  room.  At  the  same  time,  the 
arrangement  of  the  furniture  of  that  room  struck 
us  as  quite  surprisingly  ugly  and  unsuitable. 

"  What  a  pity  to  have  the  piano  where  it  is  !  " 
I  remarked  to  our  guide.  "  It  would  be  so  much 
better  over  at  the  other  side  of  the  room." 

"  It  used  to  be  over  at  the  other  side,  but  the 
Kaiser  came  here  on  a  visit  a  little  while  ago  and 
had  it  moved.  He's  had  nearly  all  the  furniture 
in  the  room  altered.*' 

Little  Yeogh  Wough  opened  his  brown  eyes 
very  wide. 

"  You  wouldn't  expect  a  man  like  him  to  take 
such  an  interest  in  little  things,"  he  said. 

"It's  only  by  taking  an  interest  in  little  things 
that  you  can  get  big  ones  to  come  right,"  I  told 
him.  "  Remember  what  I  told  you  about  Kit- 
chener and  the  rails  for  the  new  line  in  the  Soudan." 

"  Do  you  think  we  shall  ever  really  have  a  war 
with  Germany,  Big  Yeogh  Wough  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  very  surely.  If  it  comes  in  my  life- 
time, I  hope  it  will  come  before  I  am  old,  because 
there  will  be  dreadful  things  happen  which  old 
people  will  not  be  able  to  face.  It  might  mean 
almost  a  going  back  to  savage  life — even  at  home 
in  England." 


106  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  could  not 
mean  what  I  was  saying.    He  knows  better  now. 

On  the  ship  they  called  him  the  "  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,"  and  said  he  might  be  safely  referred 
to  when  any  information  on  any  subject  was 
required. 

"  If  I'm  still  in  the  position  I'm  in  now  when 
that  boy  gets  old  enough  to  think  of  making  a 
start  in  the  world,  I  hope  you'll  let  me  be  of  some 
use  to  him,"  said  a  high  Government  official  who 
was  among  the  passengers.  "  You  and  his  father 
are  not  thinking  of  the  Army  for  him,  of  course. 
His  eyes  not  being  right  puts  soldiering  out  of 
court." 

"  His  eyes  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  months,"  I 
replied.  "  But  we  should  not  think  of  the  Army 
for  him,  in  any  case.  By  the  way,  there  isn't  a 
single  soldier  among  the  people  on  this  ship." 

No,  there  was  not  a  single  soldier  on  board. 
And  yet,  since  then,  I  have  shed  tears  for  five  of 
the  men  who  were  before  me  as  I  talked  that  day, 
and  who  have  given  up  their  lives  for  their  country. 
Many  others  whom  I  did  not  know  so  well  have 
gone  over  the  awful  border,  too,  and  the  rest  are 
in  khaki ;  all  the  rest,  that  is,  who  had  something 
of  youth  still  in  their  blood. 

"  Aren't  the  Russians  splendid  ?  "  the  boy  cried 
to  me  a  few  days  later.  "  They're  just  right,  you 
see,  because  they've  got  the  two  sorts  of  men  in 
them  both  at  the  same  time — the  football-play- 


A  MOTTO  TO  STEER  BY  107 

ing,  hard-hitting  sort,  and  the  other  sort  that 
loves  poetry  and  likes  beautiful  things." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right.  That  is  just  what  makes 
Russians  so  fascinating,"  I  said. 

There  was  cholera  in  Petrograd — and  we  had  told 
Little  Yeogh  Wough  that  he  would  only  be  allowed 
to  go  there  once  or  twice  and  would  have  to  spend 
most  of  his  time  waiting  on  the  ship  off  Cron- 
stadt,  while  we  went  to  the  capital,  and  thence  on 
to  Moscow. 

But  we  had  reckoned  without  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  himself. 

Coming  back  from  Moscow  to  Petrograd,  we 
were  thunderstruck  to  see,  just  outside  the 
Empress  Mother's  palace,  in  the  magnificent 
Nevski  Prospect,  a  fine-built,  boyish  figure,  that 
stepped  out  very  gaily  and  held  its  head  very 
high. 

"  Surely  that  can't  be  Roland  !  "  I  exclaimed  in 
amazement. 

"  It  certainly  is  Roland,"  declared  his  father 
grimly. 

Little  Yeogh  Wough — wandering  through  Petro- 
grad alone  ! 

He  was  looking  at  a  carriage  drawn  by  four  long- 
tailed,  coal-black,  fiery-eyed  horses,  and  at  the 
dazzling  uniform  of  an  officer  who  sat  in  the  car- 
riage. Then  he  hurried  into  a  side-street  and  we 
got  out  of  the  droshky  we  were  in  and  followed  him 
on  foot. 


108  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

How  much  at  home  he  was  !  how  gaily  he 
walked  here  alone  in  this  city  where  the  very 
letters  of  the  alphabet  over  the  shop  fronts  were 
strange  and  mysterious  ! 

A  man  and  woman  who  looked  like  Americans 
were  walking  in  front  of  him  and,  just  as  these 
two  passed  the  door  of  the  largest  house  in  the 
street,  a  man  came  out  and  accosted  them.  He 
seemed  to  be  making  a  mistake  as  to  their  identity, 
and  a  babel  of  questions  and  answers  began  in 
Russian  and  English,  neither  side  knowing  what 
the  other  said.  Then  Little  Yeogh  Wough  reached 
the  group  and  stopped  and  began  to  talk. 

"  He  must  have  been  spending  his  time  learning 
Russian  !  "  my  husband  cried  in  astonishment. 
"  He  is  actually  putting  the  matter  right." 

We  had  come  near  enough  to  catch  the  boy's 
words — halting,  jerky  words,  and  yet  clearly  decent 
Russian,  since  they  were  understood.  We  seized 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  alone  ?  "  we  wanted 
to  know. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right !  I've  been  teaching  myself 
a  bit  of  Russian.  I  know  now  what  that  word 
means  that  you  noticed  over  the  shop  the  other 
day  and  that  you  said  looked  like  '  photograph.' 
It's  '  restaurant.'  " 

"  You  enterprising  little  wretch ! "  I  said, 
laughing. 


PART   II 
THE  TWO  GERMAN  GIFTS 


CHAPTER  Vni 
THE  FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT—A   ROSE 

I  WENT  in  earlier  than  he  expected  one  evening 
in  answer  to  his  never-faihng  appeal :  "  Come 
and  see  me  in  bed,  mother  !  "  and  found  him  sitting 
up  in  his  berth  with  a  scrap  of  pencil  and  a  crum- 
pled pocket  notebook  and  his  eyes  glued  on  some- 
thing that  he  saw  through  his  open  porthole. 

He  had  the  top  inner  berth,  on  the  corridor  side 
of  the  cabin,  and  by  looking  across  the  corridor  he 
could  get  a  complete  view  of  nearly  the  whole  of 
the  dining-room  of  the  liner.  He  thrust  his  pencil 
and  paper  out  of  sight  under  his  blankets  as  I 
drew  near ;  but  he  had  done  this  too  late,  and  he 
knew  it  as  he  met  my  look  with  one  of  his  delightful 
smiles. 

'*  Whatever  are  you  doing,  Little  Yeogh  Wough  ? 
Show  me  that  notebook." 

He  drew  forth  the  crumpled  little  pad  of  paper, 
and  I  found  scribbled  on  it  the  following  entries  : 

"  Mr.  B ,  four  whiskies  and  sodas,  with  the 

whisky  more  than  half-way  up  the  glass  each  time. 

"  Mrs.  Delaplaine  Waterton — three  glasses  of 
sherry  and  bitters. 

"  Mr.  Pinkerby — a  Kiimmel  and  three  whiskies. 
Ill 


112  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  Lord  ,  five  whiskies  and  sodas,  making 

eight  since  two  o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  Roland  !  How  naughty  of  you  !  What- 
ever put  it  into  your  head  to  spy  on  people  like 
this  ?  " 

The  laugh  that  was  on  his  lips  was  now  dancing 
in  his  big  brown  eyes. 

"  It  doesn't  do  them  any  harm,  and  it's  very 
funny,"  he  said.  "  I  can  hear  a  good  deal  of  what 
they  say.  I  don't  want  to  listen,  you  know,  but 
I  can't  help  hearing.  Still,  it  doesn't  matter, 
because  I  would  not  tell  anybody  for  anything  in 
the  world.  .  .  .  Just  fancy.  Big  Yeogh  Wough, 
we're  going  to  be  in  Kiel  to-morrow  !  I  shall  see 
father  in  a  tobacconist's  shop  again." 

"  Is  there  anything  so  very  wonderful  in  that  ?  " 

"Of  course  there  is.  He's  a  different  man 
directly  he  gets  into  a  tobacconist's.  You  really 
wouldn't  know  he  was  father.  It's  so  funny  to 
watch  him." 

"  Oh  !  Men  are  always  like  that,  dear.  You'll 
be  like  it  yourself  when  you're  a  grown  man.  No 
matter  how  much  a  man  loves  a  woman  he  gets 
free  from  her  somehow  inside  a  tobacco  shop.  But 
I  hope  you  want  to  see  Kiel  for  better  reasons  than 
that." 

He  nodded  as  he  patted  my  hand. 

"  I  know.  It's  the  Kaiser's  jewel  of  a  port, 
where  he  hugs  up  the  beginnings  of  his  navy." 

"Yes — his  navy  which  he  thinks  will  one  day 


FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT— A  ROSE       113 

beat  ours.  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  see  one  or 
two  of  his  ships — yet  I  don't  expect  we  shall. 
He  believes  in  the  old  saying  that  children  and 
fools — especially  British  fools — shouldn't  see  half- 
done  work." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Big  Yeogh  Wough,  I'm 
not  going  to  wear  my  glasses  when  we  go  ashore 
there  to-morrow.  I  don't  really  need  them  to  see 
with,  you  know,  and  I  don't  want  to  look  as  if  I'd 
got  anything  wrong  with  me  when  I'm  going 
through  a  German  town." 

"  All  right,  you  dear  boy.  And  we'll  try  to  get 
a  look  at  Wilhelm's  ships.  But  what  does  it  matter 
what  they  are  like  ?  We'll  drum  them  up  the  North 
Sea  as  we  drummed  others  before  them.  We've 
nothing  to  fear  from  outsiders  as  long  as  we  don't 
let  any  dry  rot  get  into  us  at  home." 

•  '  Kitchener  and  others  like  him  will  see  to 
that." 

"  Kitchener  can't  see  to  everything.  It  would 
take  scores  of  great  men  to  make  a  breakwater 
against  a  whole  flood  of  dull  stupidity.  We've  all 
got  to  help.  You'll  have  to  help  a  lot.  You'll 
have  to  learn  to  be  very  strong — but  without  being 
hard.  If  you  are  hard  you're  like  a  hyacinth  in  a 
March  gale  as  compared  with  a  daffodil.  The 
hyacinth  stands  up  stiffly  and  thinks  it's  strong, 
but  the  wind  snaps  it  in  a  minute,  while  the  bend- 
ing daffodil  comes  out  all  right.  It's  always  like 
that  with  men  who  try  to   kill  their  softer  side. 


114  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

and  who  don't  understand  women  and  don't  trust 
them.    And  now  you  must  go  to  sleep." 

"  Will  you  promise  to  wake  me  up  when  you 
come  to  bed  and  want  your  dress  undone  ?  I'm 
so  much  easier  to  wake  than  father." 

"  Yes,  I'll  wake  you.  You  see,  your  knowing 
how  to  undo  my  dress  will  make  you  a  better 
magistrate  one  day,  or  a  better  governor  of  an 
Indian  province.  There  are  people  who  wouldn't 
see  how  this  is  so,  but  it's  true." 

Kiel  looked  quite  gay  when  we  opened  our  eyes 
upon  it  next  morning.  It  would  have  looked 
gayer  still  if  the  ships  in  the  harbour  had  not 
been  of  such  a  hideous  dull  grey  colour — exactly 
that  of  an  insect  that  I  have  always  detested, 
known  as  the  slater. 

The  Kaiser's  private  pleasure  yacht,  the  Hohen- 
zollern,  was  there  and  was  certainly  white  ;  but  it 
was  a  white  that  looked  as  if  it  ought  to  have  been 
grey. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  the  Hohenzollern  was  a 
miracle  of  luxury  inside,  with  her  silver  bath  for 
the  Kaiser's  daughter  and  other  sybaritic  appoint- 
ments ;  but  outside  she  was  not  a  dream 
of  loveliness.  Neither  were  the  two  warships 
that  we  saw  anything  like  as  handsome  to  behold 
as  our  own  battleships. 

"What  funny  tin-pot  things  they  look!"  said 
Little  Yeogh  Wough.  "  Now  I  know  why  all  the 
toy  ships  we  have  that  are  made   in  Germany 


FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT— A  ROSE       115 

never  look  a  bit  like  ours.  They  don't  look  so 
professional,  somehow.  Perhaps  it's  because  we're 
not  used  to  them.  I  hope  they'll  let  us  go  on 
board  them." 

"  Perhaps  they  will,  as  there  are  five  or  six 
members  of  Parliament  among  us  and  the  head  of 
the  Criminal  Investigation  Department  of  Scot- 
land Yard,"  I  said  quite  confidently. 

But  it  was  notified  to  us  early  by  the  Kiel 
authorities  that  the  two  warships  were,  as  one 
might  say,  in  deshabille,  and  not  tidy  enough 
and  trim  enough  to  be  inspected.  So  we  had  to 
content  ourselves  with  walking  about  the  town. 

Little  Yeogh  Wough  took  a  snapshot  of  the 
Hohenzollern  from  the  jetty,  and  then  walked 
along  with  pride  and  satisfaction  on  his  handsome 
face  because  he  had  managed  to  do  this  without 
attracting  anybody's  notice.  Then  we  turned  up 
the  long  main  street  and  saw  a  good  many  pretty 
villas  that  were  charming  enough  to  make  one 
feel  one  could  live  in  them  quite  comfortably  for 
two  or  three  months  of  the  summer. 

"  It  is  a  very  nice  place,"  I  said,  as  we  passed 
the  last  of  these  tree-embowered  villas  and  began 
to  walk  up  the  hilly  main  street  where  the 
shops  begin.  "  Here's  your  tobacco  shop,  by  the 
way." 

I  stayed  outside  on  the  pavement  while  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  went  in  with  his  father.  When 
they  came  out  a  German  officer  came  out  also, 


116  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

treated  me  to  a  long,  close  look  and  swung  on  his 
way. 

"  He  stared  hard  at  me  in  the  shop  and  then 
said  :  '  You're  English,  are  you  ?  '  "  the  boy  of 
my  heart  informed  me.  "  I  told  him  I  was,  and  he 
looked  hard  at  me  all  over  again.  I  felt  quite  glad 
that  I'd  come  out  without  my  glasses  on." 

I  felt  glad,  too,  as  I  looked  at  his  bright  face. 

How  queerly  white  his  lucky  lock  showed  in  the 
sunshine  !  Surely  nothing  very  bad  could  ever 
happen  to  him  in  life  when  he  had  a  lock  like 
that ! 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say  it,  but  this  old 
watchmaker  fellow  here  has  put  my  watch  right 
twice  as  well  as  an  ordinary  watchmaker  in  this 
sort  of  town  at  home  in  England  would  do  it,  and 
has  done  it  in  half  the  time,  into  the  bargain," 
his  father  said  presently,  emerging  from  another 
little  shop.  "It's  astonishing  how  capable  these 
Germans  are.  It's  a  pity  they  aren't  a  little  better 
at  sanitation.  What  awful  smells  there  are  all 
over  this  town  !  " 

This  was  true.  We  had  been  worried  by  stenches 
ever  since  we  had  begun  to  walk  up  the  hilly 
street. 

On  the  way  back  two  small  incidents  occurred. 
The  first  was  that  Little  Yeogh  Wough  nearly  got 
into  serious  trouble  by  taking  a  photograph  of 
half  a  dozen  street  urchins,  and  the  second  was 
that  we  passed  a  battalion  of  soldiers  marching 


FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT— A  ROSE       117 

with  such  regularity  that  the  whole  mass  of  them 
was  like  one  huge  moving  machine.  We  stopped 
and  watched  them  go  by,  never  dreaming  of  what 
was  coming  to  us  and  to  them  in  the  very  near 
future. 

Ah,  Heaven  !  If  we  could  have  foreseen  the 
thing  that  was  coming  ! 

That  afternoon  the  brightness  of  the  day  had 
gone  and  heavy  showers  of  rain  made  me  give  up 
the  idea  of  going  ashore  again.  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  went,  however,  with  his  father,  and  when 
they  came  back  two  hours  later  he  gave  me  one 
of  the  most  perfect  dark  red  roses  that  I  have  ever 
seen  in  my  life. 

"  A  German  girl  gave  it  to  me,"  he  told  me. 
"  I  asked  her  for  it,  right  straight  out.  We  were 
sheltering  from  one  of  the  showers  under  the  wall 
of  one  of  those  villa  gardens,  and  I  saw  the  rose 
and  it  looked  so  lovely  that  I  told  father  that  I 
wished  I  could  get  it  for  you.  Then,  just  as  the 
rain  was  leaving  off,  the  girl  came  out  of  the  villa 
into  the  garden  and  I  asked  father  to  tell  me 
what  words  to  say  in  German  to  ask  for  the  rose. 
And  he  told  me,  and  I  asked  her.  I  couldn't  have 
done  it  for  myself.  I  only  did  it  because  I  wanted 
the  rose  for  you  so  badly.  And  she  actually 
said :  '  Ja  '  and  gave  it  to  me.  Then  she  smiled 
and  said :  '  Auf  wiedersehen.'  I  asked  father 
what  that  meant,  and  he  said  it  was  the  same 
as  the  French  au  revoir,  or  '  To  our  next  meet- 


118  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

ing.'     But  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  that 

German  girl  again.'* 

"  No.    I  don't  suppose  you  ever  will." 
And  so  he  got  his  first  German  gift. 
That  night  I  wore  the  rose. 

We  had  to  wait  about  in  the  Kiel  Canal  because 
a  ship  had  got  stuck  across  one  of  the  narrow 
parts  of  it.     And  the  boy  said  : 

"  The  Kaiser  must  have  felt  very  much  shut  in 
before  this  canal  was  made.  How  funny  it  is 
to  be  on  board  a  ship  on  a  strip  of  water  that's 
sometimes  so  narrow  that  you  could  have  a  talk 
with  the  people  on  the  banks  on  either  side — just 
as  if  you  were  on  the  Regent's  Canal  at  home  in 
London !  " 

It  was  a  joyous  occasion  for  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
when  he  lay  in  his  bed  again  for  his  good- night  talk 
with  me,  and  not  in  a  berth. 

"It's  nice  to  come  home  and  be  welcomed  by 
the  children  and  the  dogs.  What  a  pity  it  is  that 
dogs  can't  welcome  us  when  we  go  to  Heaven  ! 
I've  been  thinking  this  ever  since  Miss  Torry  told 
me  that  Tita  didn't  eat  anything  for  four  days 
after  we'd  gone  and  was  so  cross  with  her  puppies 
that  she  gave  them  smacks  with  her  paw  every 
time  they  came  near  her — all  because  her  heart 
was  breaking.  And  just  because  she's  got  four 
legs  and  fur  instead  of  two  legs  and  a  bare  skin 
she  isn't  supposed  to  have  a  soul." 


FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT— A  ROSE       119 

His  eyes  were  looking  full  into  mine  as  our  faces 
rested  against  the  pillow,  close  to  each  other. 

I  had  returned  to  the  house  an  hour  in  front  of 
him  and  I  knew  in  what  a  wonderful  way  the  place 
seemed  to  get  richer  directly  he  appeared  inside 
its  walls.  Everything  took  on  a  new  value  the 
moment  he  got  near  it.  It  is  a  fine  thing  not  to  be 
an  impoverisher,  but  it  is  a  finer  thing  still  to  be 
an  enricher.  It  is  a  particularly  valuable  quality 
to  young  people  starting  in  life  on  small  incomes. 
He  himself  knew  it  when  he  saw  it  in  others. 

"  I  say,  Big  Yeogh  Wough,  how  is  it  that  you 
always  look  quite  expensively  dressed  in  hats  and 
coats  that  most  people  would  throw  away  if  they 
saw  them  off  you  ?  '*  he  asked  me  one  day. 

"  I  don't  know,  dear.  I  only  know  that  there 
are  people  like  that,  while  there  are  other  people 
who  could  walk  through  the  East  End  on  a  Bank 
Holiday  in  a  fifty-guinea  musical-comedy  hat 
without  having  a  single  person  look  at  them  twice. 
It  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  handsomeness.  Some 
really  beautiful  people  aren't  worth  looking  at. 
It  has  to  do  with  style.  When  you  grow  up  you'll 
never  need  to  envy  a  field-marshal  his  imiform. 
Just  by  being  yourself  you'll  have  a  uniform  more 
dazzling  than  any  that  was  ever  worn  in  Europe." 

"  Is  that  why  you  never  envy  women  who  can 
buy  their  clothes  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  I'm  too  conceited  to  envy  them,"  I  answered 
him.     "A  woman  who  envies  other  women  their 


120  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

things  can't  think  very  much  of  herself.  Now,  I 
think  so  much  of  myself  that  if  I  choose  to  go  out 
with  a  hole  in  my  stocking,  then  holes  in  stockings 
are  the  fashion.  You  must  feel  like  that,  too — 
within  limits.  Only,  of  course,  a  well-bred  man 
always  needs  to  be  smarter  than  a  well-bred 
woman.  By  the  way,  I  met  one  of  the  great 
French  man-dressmakers  at  a  luncheon  at  the 
Mansion  House  one  day  and  he  taught  me  a  lot 
of  wisdom.  It  all  came  to  this — that  you  can't 
dress  the  undressable  person  and  that  the  dressable 
person  doesn't  need  dressing.  He  said  that  the 
struggle  to  dress  royal  women  and  millionaires' 
wives  who  were  not  dressable  had  turned  his  hair 
prematurely  grey." 

"  I  suppose  it  comes  to  this,  too — that  we  must 
cultivate  ourselves  and  trust  to  luck  for  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  I  nodded.  "  Whatever  happens 
to  you — I  mean,  whatever  things  you  may  have  to 
do  without — take  care  that  you  keep  yourself  in 
good  condition,  body  and  mind.  You  can  always 
get  new  clothes  when  you  want  them,  so  long  as  the 
figure  they're  going  to  be  hung  on  is  all  right. 
Keep  your  bloom  and  your  graces  and  your  style. 
Why,  even  if  people  went  about  naked,  like  savages, 
there  would  still  be  some  among  them  well  dressed 
and  some  not !  " 

To-night,  as  I  knelt  by  his  bed  with  my  head 
resting  on  the  pillow  beside  his,  his  mind  was  on 
graver  things. 


FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT— A  ROSE       121 

"  I've  been  thinking  a  lot  about  souls  and  that 
sort  of  thing  since  Miss  Torry  told  me  just  now 
that  the  colonel  along  the  road  here  is  supposed 
to  be  dying.  I  saw  the  vicar  go  in  there.  I  don't 
want  that  kind  of  man  coming  about  me  when  I'm 
dying.  I  couldn't  tell  my  feelings  then  to  a  man 
I'd  been  playing  tennis  with  a  month  or  two  before. 
Asking  a  man  like  that  to  help  you  in  your  last 
minutes  would  seem  more  like  a  joke  than  any- 
thing else." 

"  You  strange  boy !  Why,  the  vicar  is  a  very 
good  man." 

"  I  know  he  is  ;  but  that  doesn't  make  any  differ- 
ence. I'd  rather  have  a  worse  man  who  kept  to 
his  owfi  calling  more." 

This  was  the  first  time  for  a  long  while  that  the 
boy  of  my  heart  had  spoken  to  me  about  religion. 
It  prepared  me  for  what  I  came  upon  accidentally 
next  day  in  a  private  drawer  which  he  had  hap- 
pened to  leave  not  only  unlocked,  but  yawning 
open — an  ivory  crucifix. 

I  stood  and  looked  at  the  sacred  thing,  as  it  lay 
partly  hidden  and  partly  revealed  among  a  few 
boyish  treasures  that  included  a  few  letters  that 
I  had  written  him  at  the  rare  times  when  we  had 
been  separated. 

That  crucifix  hidden  away  in  his  drawer  meant 
more,  far  more,  than  even  I  could  guess.  It  told 
a  story  of  strange  workings  in  the  deeps  of  his 
soul.     I  knew  better  than  to  say  a  word  to  him 


122  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

about  it.  But  that  night,  when  I  went  to  see  him 
in  bed,  my  kiss  was  warmer  and  my  arm  under  his 
head  tenderer  even  than  usual. 

"  Dear  Big  Yeogh  Wough  !  Dear  Big  Yeogh 
Wough  !  "  he  murmured  caressingly. 

"  How  is  it,  Roland,  that  you  never  say  '  dar- 
ling '  ?  I  don't  think  I've  ever  heard  you  say  it 
in  your  life,  any  more  than  I've  ever  heard  you 
talk  slang." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  want  to  say  it,  some- 
how.   You  know,  you  yourself  say  it's  cheap." 

"  It's  cheap  when  a  woman  says  it,  because 
women  generally  say  it  too  easily;  but  it  can  be 
a  grand  word  when  a  man  speaks  it — or  a  boy. 
Still,  I  am  quite  satisfied  that  you  should  call  me 
just  Big  Yeogh  Wough.  I  know  I  am  dearer  to 
you  than  anyone  else  in  the  world  can  ever  be — 
at  least,  until  you  grow  up  and  fall  in  love." 

I  had  spoken  with  a  laugh,  but  he  answered  me 
gravely. 

"  I  shall  have  to  find  a  very  special  sort  of  girl 
before  I  leave  you  for  her." 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  I  had  risen  from  beside 
his  bed  and  was  opening  his  window,  he  said  : 

"  Did  you  see  those  Territorials  coming  along 
just  as  we  turned  in  at  the  gate  here  ?  Did  you 
see  how  well  they  marched  ?  Of  course,  they  were 
only  Territorials  and  people  always  laugh  at  them, 
but  there's  something  so  splendid  in  the  sound  of 
marching  feet  that  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  head. 


FIRST  GERMAN  GIFT— A  ROSE       123 

It  made  me  feel  for  the  first  time  almost  sorry  that 
I'm  never  going  to  be  a  soldier." 

Oh,  that  splendid  sound  of  marching  feet,  so 
grand,  so  gay,  and  yet  so  heartbreaking  !  He  was 
to  hear  it  often  enough  in  a  very  few  years  to 
come  ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  WAY  OF  A  BROTHER 

THERE  was  one  thing  which  more  than  any- 
other  had  power  to  rouse  whatever  demon  of 
Temper  lurked  far  down  under  the  sweetness  of 
Little  Yeogh  Wough's  nature ;  and  that  was 
Croquet. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  a  well-known  judge  said  a 
year  or  two  ago  in  his  court  that  from  personal 
experience  he  knew  croquet  to  be  more  trying 
to  the  temper  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
And  the  objectionable  game  was  at  the  root  of 
a  good  deal  of  trouble  that  arose  at  this  time 
between  the  Boy  and  me. 

He  never  could  bear  to  be  beaten  at  anything. 
This  feeling  has  been  his  driving  power  in  all 
his  life.  Even  Old  Nurse  knew  of  it,  for  one  day 
when  I  had  said  to  her  that  he  never  told  a  lie, 
she  answered  me  : 

"  No.  That's  true  ;  he  don't  tell  no  lies.  Bi\t 
that  isn't  from  loving  the  truth.  It's  only  because 
'e  won't  be  beaten  at  it.  'E's  that  full  of  pride 
and  vanity,  he  don't  know  what  to  do  with  himself. 
All  these  children  is  full  of  pride  and  vanity. 
When  they  goes  out,  if  you  please,  they  don't 

124 


THE   WAY  OF  A   BROTHER         125 

want  to  go  where  other  people  goes,  so  when  we're 
in  the  country  we  'ides  behind  a  bush  so  as  we 
can't  see  nobody  and  nobody  can't  see  us,  and 
When  we're  up  'ere  in  London  we  goes  down  back 
streets  where  there's  nobody  else  goes  but  dustmen 
and  cats.  And  it's  all  Master  Roland's  teaching 
of  'em.  He've  been  making  Miss  Clare  think  she's 
an  artist  now,  and  you  ought  to  see  our  Macademy 
up  on  the  nursery  walls.  She've  been  in  a  temper 
all  this  day  because  I  won't  sit  with  nothing  on 
for  'er  to  make  a  picture  of  Venus  rising  from  the 


Meanwhile,  Little  Yeogh  Wough  played  croquet 
desperately  on  the  lawn  between  the  banks  of 
marguerites. 

(Dear  marguerites  !  I  remember  how,  when- 
ever he  was  near  them,  they  all  took  on  a  Frenchy 
gaiety  and  distinction  that  lent  a  new  charm  to 
their  English  prettiness  and  purity.) 

He  was  not  allowed  to  play  with  his  little 
sister  and  brother,  because  he  thought  too  much 
of  himself  and  too  little  of  them.  He  was  then 
told  off  to  play  with  any  friends  of  the  family  who 
happened  to  be  on  a  visit  at  the  house,  and  the 
end  of  this  usually  was  that  when  in  the  evening 
he  came  to  say  good  night  and  made  his  unfailing 
appeal :  "  Come  and  see  me  in  bed,  mother,'* 
I  answered  him  severely :  "  No,  Roland.  You 
behaved  too  badly  at  croquet  to-day." 

He  stood  and  looked  at  me  wistfully.    He  always 


126  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

did  this  when  I  rebuked  him.  He  never  asked 
questions  in  words,  but  only  with  his  big  brown 
eyes. 

"  I  happened  to  be  upstairs  at  the  open  nursery 
window  and  I  saw  you  and  heard  you,"  I  went 

on.     "  You  were  most  rude  to  Mr. .     If  you 

ever  play  croquet  with  him  again  you  will  have 
the  goodness  to  remember  that  he  is  a  married 
man  of  fifty-five  and  not  another  boy  of  fourteen, 
like  yourself,  and  you  will  treat  him  with  respect." 

"  But  he  got  my  ball  at  the  beginning  of  the 
game  and  put  it  through  all  the  hoops  and  I 
couldn't  get  it  back  !  " 

"  Don't  make  excuses.  Leave  those  to  weak 
characters.  An  excuse  is  always  worse  than  the 
thing  it  tries  to  cover  up.  You  lost  your  temper 
and  forgot  your  manners,  and  you  will  not  play 
croquet  again  for  a  fortnight." 

This  meant  a  fortnight  of  proud,  dignified 
unhappiness.  And  it  was  while  this  fit  of  quiet 
bitterness  was  still  on  him  that  he  did  a  dreadful 
thing. 

One  day,  when  I  came  home  after  having  been 
out  two  or  three  hours,  I  found  an  ominous  grim- 
ness  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  house,  and  every- 
body I  met  seemed  to  have  a  longer  upper  lip 
than  usual. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked  Miss  Torry, 
who  had  a  horror-stricken  look. 

*'  It's].Roland.    He  has  been  up  in  the  nursery 


THE   WAY  OF  A  BROTHER  127 

and  knocked  his  sister  down  and  trampled  on  her. 
It's  a  wonder  that  he  hasn't  broken  any  of  her 
ribs." 

And  I  had  been  out  buying  pretty  clothes  in 
order  the  better  to  live  up  to  this  boy's  ideal  of 
me  ! 

I  found  him  sitting  in  the  dining-room,  waiting 
for  his  tea,  which  he  always  had  with  us. 

"  Roland,  is  it  true  that  you  have  been  upstairs 
and  knocked  your  sister  down  and  trampled 
upon  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  it's  quite  true."  His  eyes  met 
mine  unflinchingly. 

"  And  you  have  done  this  unmanly  thing  .  .  . 
you,  my  boy,  that  I  worship  so  much  !  " 

"  Yes."  He  answered  me  very  low,  but  very 
steadily.  "  She  made  me  angry  because  she 
hadn't  got  any  imagination.  I  asked  her  to 
imagine  the  nursery  door  was  red  and  she  said 
she  couldn't  because  it  was  white.  That  made 
me  so  angry  that  I  couldn't  help  knocking  her 
down." 

"  You  little  coward !  "  I  said  to  him  very 
quietly.    "  You  little  coward  !  " 

I  saw  his  eyes  flinch  then  and  fill  with  tears 
and  his  face  grow  first  very  red  and  then  deadly 
white,  while  his  mouth  began  to  quiver  and  twitch. 

And  I  went  out  in  search  of  a  cane. 

That  was  the  last  whipping  he  ever  had  ;  and 
the  last  occasion  on  which  he  could  ever  be  accused 


128  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

of  acting  unchivalrously  towards  any  feminine 
person. 

"  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  why  do  you  do  these 
things  and  lower  my  grand  ideas  of  you  ?  "  I 
asked  him  when  I  went  to  see  him  in  bed  the 
next  night.  "And,  apart  from  that,  why  do  you 
put  it  into  the  power  of  Old  Nurse  and  other 
people  to  say  that  I  am  a  fool  for  worshipping 
you  as  I  do  ?  You  are  not  kind  to  me  when  you 
do  that.  You  see,  I  know  in  spite  of  everything 
that  you  are  good  and  great ;  but  they  don't  know 
because  they  are  blind,  and  so  they  think  me 
wrong  and  believe  you  to  be  a  brutal  little  coward. 
Why  do  you  give  them  the  chance  ?  " 

"It's  Clare.  She  aggravates  me.  She  pre- 
cipitates." 

"  Precipitates  ?  "    I  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  Yes.  She  always  rushes  headlong  at  the 
wrong  thing.  Yesterday  afternoon  I  was  begin- 
ing  to  tell  Nurse  that  there  was  something  wrong 
with  my  eiderdown,  and  I'd  just  got  out  the 
first  syllable  ei  when  Clare  broke  in :  'Oh,  yes, 
Roland,  I  knew  there  was  something  wrong  with 
your  eye.  I  saw  it  directly  you  came  in.*  That 
was  what  began  to  get  my  temper  up.  Then 
I  said  something  sharp  to  her  and  she  answered 
me  back.  She  said  that  when  she  grew  up  she*d 
take  a  cottage  on  Dartmoor  to  receive  me  in  when 
I  came  out  of  the  convict  prison.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  for  a  girl  of  eleven  ?  ** 


THE  WAY  OF  A  BROTHER         129 

"Rather  bright.  And  in  any  case  she  is 
a  girl  and  you  are  bound  to  honour  girls  and 
women  all  the  days  of  your  life.  A  sister  should 
be  a  very  holy  and  lovely  thing  to  a  brother, 
Little  Yeogh  Wough,  as  you  will  know  some 
day." 

Now  that  he  has  grown  big  and  is  a  soldier,  he 
has  in  very  deed  come  to  know  this,  as  is  shown 
by  something  he  said  in  a  letter  which  he  sent  to 
his  sister  from  the  Front  only  a  few  days  ago  : 

"  My  dear  Bystander, 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  you  a  Bystander  ? 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  do  know  that  I  haven't 
got  the  stuff  in  me  of  which  Bystanders  are  made. 
I  must  be  the  Principal  Player  or  nothing.  I 
know,  too,  that  a  Bystander  knows  more  and 
understands  more  than  a  Principal  Player.  I 
often  think  that  if  anyone  wanted  a  concise 
description  of  myself  I  should  do  better  to  send  them 
to  you  than  to  anyone  else.  It  is  no  longer  a 
case  of  '  dear  little  sister  and  baby  brother,'  as 
it  used  to  be  once  when  I  said  my  prayers  ;  but 
for  a  boy  the  milestones  are  whiter  and  more 
evident  than  for  a  girl.  The  Public  School  and 
Osborne  and  Oxford  are  landmarks  which  you 
have  nothing  equivalent  to  set  against. 

"  And  yet  this  big  brother  .  .  .  autocratic,  me- 
teoric, inconsiderate  .  .  .  who  writes  to  you  often 
as  if  you  were  the  Stores,  sees  more  and  knows  more 
I 


130  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

and  thinks  more  than  even  Bystanders  give  him 
credit  for.  The  three  years  between  us  were  once  a 
very  great  deal  of  difference,  but  that  time  has 
passed.  Let  it  rather  be,  as  I  once  wrote  on  a 
photograph  for  you,  F rater  sorori  ;  amicus  amico. 
Someone  remarked  to  me  the  other  day :  *  All 
your  family  are  such  dears  ...  all  of  them.' 
"Yes." 

Looking  back  again,  I  remember  that  it  was 
in  the  time  of  the  coming  out  of  the  almond 
blossom  that  Little  Yeogh  Wough  tried  for  a 
scholarship  at  Winchester  and  failed,  as  he  had 
known  beforehand  that  he  would  fail,  because 
never  once  in  his  life  had  he  succeeded  in  getting 
anything  at  the  first  time  of  trying  for  it.  And  it 
was  not  very  long  afterwards  that  he  came  out 
triumphantly  in  an  even  harder  examination  and 
so  won  his  way  into  another  great  Public  School. 

He  signalised  his  triumph  by  asking  that  even- 
ing with  quite  unusual  boldness  and  assurance  : 
"  Father,  can  I  have  the  first  hot  water  in  the 
bath  ?  " 

And  his  father,  who  usually  defended  that  first 
hot  water  as  a  tigress  defends  her  cubs,  answered 
him  with  almost  boisterous  goodwill : 

"  Certainly,  my  boy,  certainly.  Tell  the  cook 
to  pile  on  the  coal  and  make  it  hotter  than  ever." 

And  this  was  the  dear,  delightful  man  who, 
if  he  saw  a  light  in  the  bathroom  window  when 


THE  WAY  OF  A  BROTHER         181 

he  was  coming  home  in  the  evening,  would  take 
to  running  along  the  street  like  a  creature  possessed, 
and  if  asked  what  was  the  matter,  would  reply 
distractedly  as  he  ran  : 

"  Somebody's  in  the  bathroom  !  Somebody's 
having  a  bath  .  .  .  taking  all  the  hot  water ! 
I  must  get  home  and  stop  it.  I  must  get  home  and 
stop  it." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE 

THERE  was  another  evening  on  which  the  boy 
of  my  heart  was  allowed  to  take  the  first 
bloom  off  the  hot-water  supply  in  the  bathroom, 
instead  of  having  to  indulge  his  love  of  a  hot  bath 
at  some  other  and  more  inconvenient  time  of  the 
day ;  and  this  was  the  evening  before  he  set  out 
for  the  first  time  for  the  Public  School  on  the 
Tableland. 

He  was  a  very  shy  and  nervous  boy  when  he 
went,  though  he  was  to  be  prince-like  in  his  pride 
when  he  came  back. 

"  That  there  Master  Roland  'uU  have  a  bilious 
attack  when  he  gets  to  that  there  School,"  Old 
Nurse  declared,  as  she  watched  him  go.  "  'E 
always  feels  it  in  the  inside  when  his  nerves  is 
upset.  It  was  just  the  same  when  'e  was  learning 
to  ride.  He  would  keep  on  with  that  there  danger- 
ous 'orse,  just  because  he  wouldn't  be  beaten,  and 
it  was  a  wonder  to  me  as  he  didn't  get  yellow 
jaundice.  If  he  don't  end  up  with  a  bilious  attack 
to-day,  he'll  be  lucky." 

There  was  a  curious  weight  of  gloom  upon  the 
house  after  his  cab  had  driven  away.    The  little 

182 


THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE  133 

sister  moped  in  a  corner  and  the  still  smaller 
brother  sobbed  silently  behind  the  door  of  a  room 
in  which  he  was  not  expected  to  be. 

I  knew  that  destiny  was  working,  but  I  did  not 
know  how  resolutely  or  how  pitilessly.  I  did  not 
know  it  even  when,  at  the  beginning  of  the  second 
term,  we  were  asked  to  give  our  permission  for 
the  boy  to  join  the  Officers'  Training  Corps. 

"  Of  course  he  must  join  it,"  we  agreed.  "  It 
will  do  him  all  the  good  in  the  world,  both  in  body 
and  in  character.  He's  not  likely  ever  to  have  to 
practise  what  he  will  learn  there  ;  but  every  male 
child  born  in  the  British  Empire  ought  to  know 
how  to  be  a  soldier  in  case  of  need." 

So  he  took  the  first  step  ;  the  step  which  has 
led  after  only  a  few  years  to  my  being  here  where 
I  am  to-night — waiting  for  him  to  come  home  on 
his  second  leave  from  the  Front,  where  he  has  been 
fighting  in  the  great  war  that  darkens  the  whole 
world. 

His  first  holidays  were  such  amazing  days  of 
joy!  They  were  the  winter  holidays,  too,  and 
that  made  them  better.  The  house  in  London 
had  been  in  full  swing,  seeming  to  brim  over  with 
children  and  dogs  and  high  spirits ;  and,  within 
due  limits  of  discipline,  Little  Yeogh  Wough  had 
been  master  of  it  all. 

He  had  had  a  fairly  hard  time  during  the  term, 
though  we  did  not  know  it  until  long  afterwards. 


134  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

A  secret  society  of  slackers  had  tried  to  baulk  his 
energy  and  blunt  his  ability  by  threatening  him 
with  ghastly  penalties  if  he  got  to  the  top  of  his 
form.  Five  of  them  had  met  him  one  day  on  his 
way  from  his  house  to  his  class-room  and  had 
thrown  him  over  a  gate  into  a  field.  He  had  got 
up  and  dealt  with  them  one  after  another,  and  after 
that  the  threatening  letters  with  death  heads  and 
cross-bones  drawn  in  blood  had  ceased  to  come 
and  he  had  had  peace. 

The  bodily  strength  of  him  had  developed  enor- 
mously in  the  three  months,  and  yet,  directly  he 
had  come  home,  the  tender,  irresistibly  fascinat- 
ing side  of  him  had  sprung  to  the  fore  again.  The 
gracious  boyish  dignity  and  charm  of  him  filled 
the  whole  atmosphere  on  those  afternoons  when 
wind  and  rain  and  sleet  made  the  London  that  he 
loved  a  bad  place  to  be  out  in,  and  in  the  comfort- 
able study  he  made  his  small  toy  gramophone 
give  out  a  sweeter  music  than  I  have  ever  heard 
from  the  large  and  expensive  instrument  that  now 
holds  the  place  of  honour  in  the  home. 

"But  I  wonder  why  everything  sounds  so  sad,'* 
Miss  Torry  asked  suddenly  one  day.  "It's  always 
the  same,  whatever  record  he  puts  on.  There's 
always  a  sound  of  heartbreak  in  it,  even  if  it's  a 
comic  song." 

"  That's  like  his  character  and  his  eyes,"  I 
laughed.  "  All  gaiety  and  joy  in  living,  but  with 
throbs  of  heartbreak  underneath." 


THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE  135 

Then  there  were  happier  hours  still  when  I  was 
going  out  to  dinner  and  he  would  superintend  my 
dressiig  and  be  particular  about  the  flowers  I  was 
going  to  wear,  or  throw  himself  across  the  foot  of 
the  bed  and  read  me  French  books  or  old  French 
plays  wJbile  I  brushed  my  hair. 

"It's  so  lovely  to  get  back  to  London  and  to 
you,  Big  Yeogh  Wough.  When  I've  done  with 
school  and  Oxford,  you'll  let  me  live  near  you 
always,  woi/t  you  ?  " 

"  You  woi't  be  able  to  live  near  me  if  you  go  in 
for  the  Indian  Civil  Service,"  I  reminded  him. 
"  And  that's  onore  suited  to  you  than  an5rthing 
else,  you  know  " 

"  Then  I  sha'l  try  to  be  literary  and  not  have 
anything  to  do  vith  the  Indian  Civil  Service,"  he 
declared,  half  angrily.  "Oh,  by  the  way,  as  soon 
as  I  get  back  to  school  I'm  going  to  get  rooms  for 
you  and  father  foi  our  Speech  Day.  They've  got 
to  be  secured  early,  or  you  mayn't  get  any.  Some- 
times people  take  tKem  a  year  in  advance." 

That  first  Speech  Day,  when  it  did  arrive,  was  a 
marvellous  occasion.  He  had  urged  me  in  half  a 
dozen  letters  to  make  great  efforts  in  the  direction 
of  clothes,  and  most  o^  all  in  the  matter  of  a  hat, 
and  as  soon  as  I  arrived  he  anxiously  inspected 
my  outfit. 

"  Yes,  that's  all  right, '  he  pronounced,  tenderly 
touching  the  new  lilac  frock  which  I  had  lifted 
out  of  my  trunk,  and  looking  admiringly  at  the 


136  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

plumed  black  hat  that  was  to  be  worn  with  it. 
"  You'll  look  splendid  and  I  shall  be  very  proud  of 
you." 

"  But  you  ought  to  be  just  as  proud  of  me  if  I 
were  a  frump,"  I  said. 

"  You  couldn't  be  a  frump  and  be  my  nother," 
he  returned.  And  to  this  day  I  don't  knov  whether 
this  remark  was  more  of  a  compliment  co  himself 
or  to  me. 

Just  as  dance  music  is  sadder  thai  any  Dead 
March  ever  composed,  so  youth  and  gaiety  make 
one  think  of  death  more  than  ever  old  age  does. 

Really,  most  of  the  old  people  that  one  knows, 
and  particularly  the  old  men,  make  one  think  of 
anything  rather  than  the  grave.  Tiey  are  skittish, 
frivolous,  doing  their  best  to  dsnce  upon  their 
crutches  and  holding  on  to  the  gcod  things  of  this 
world  with  a  desperate  grip  whict  youth  never  has. 

That  is  why  youth  goes  out  to  fight  so  readily. 

But  a  great  Public  School,  wita  its  army  of  eager- 
faced  boys  and  its  echoing  stoaes  and  its  clamour 
of  gay  voices,  not  only  makei  me  think  of  death, 
but  makes  even  the  past  ages  of  the  world  pass  in 
procession  before  my  terrifed  eyes.  I  can  see 
Death  walking  in  the  boyis/i  ranks  always,  mock- 
ing at  their  pink  youth  with  the  grisly  horror  of 
his  grey  decay. 

I  don't  know  whether  I  have  a  special  kind  of 
vision  for  this  horror.  I  only  know  that  I  see  it 
where  other  people  don*t  seem  to  see  it.    In  the 


THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE  137 

same  way  I  always  find  Paris  the  saddest  city  in 
the  world,  because  it  is  the  brightest.  I  love  Paris, 
but  I  am  never  able  to  breathe  in  it.  When  I  get 
back  to  London  the  choking  feeling  goes  ;  for  in 
London,  under  superficial  gloom,  there  is  peace 
for  the  nerves  and  solid  happiness. 

The  choking  feeling  was  in  my  throat  all  through 
that  Speech  Day.  It  gripped  me  first  early  in  the 
morning  when  I  went  to  the  beautiful  chapel  and 
saw  recorded  on  the  walls  the  names  of  the  sons  of 
the  School  who  had  given  their  lives  for  their 
country.  There  were  many  of  them  even  then. 
(Ah,  Heaven  !  I  dread  to  think  how  many  there 
are  now  !)  And  I  could  have  kissed  the  wall 
where  they  are  recorded  in  my  passion  of  gratitude 
and  admiration  and  reverence. 

If  it  comes  to  that,  I  should  like  to  drag  myself 
on  my  hands  and  knees  over  the  stones  of  such  a 
place  as  this  in  that  very  passion  of  reverence. 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  these  boys  died  so  bravely 
when  they  came  from  a  place  where  chivalry, 
knightliness,  graciousness  and  the  truest  manliness 
have  come  down  as  a  heritage  through  hundreds 
of  years  ? 

It  is  strange  how  the  stalking  shape  of  Death 
seemed  to  be  clanking  his  dry  bones  everywhere 
for  me  that  day  !  It  seemed  to  grin  at  me  when 
I  smiled  in  pride  at  seeing  Little  Yeogh  Wough  in 
the  khaki  of  the  Officers'  Training  Corps.  It  grinned, 
too,  at  the  other  women,  who  were  there  in  hun- 


188  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

dreds — mothers,  sisters,  aunts,  or  cousins  of  the 
boys — all  looking  like  butterflies  in  frocks  of  the 
"  confection  "  kind  and  hats  from  Paris  or  from 
the  Maison  Lewis. 

What  a  mockery  clothes  are  when  the  great 
things  of  life  come  along  ! 

"  Roland,  are  you  satisfied  with  my  dress  and 
hat  ?  "  I  asked  him  in  a  whisper,  when  I  got  a 
chance. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  They  look  better  than  any- 
body else's  here." 

"But  they  wouldn't  look  half  so  nice  laid  out  on 
a  bed  as  most  of  these  other  people's  things  would." 

"  No.  I  don't  suppose  they  would.  That's  just 
why  they  look  so  much  better  on." 

*'  You  clever  boy !  Then  you've  found  out 
already  that  there  are  two  different  kinds  of 
love  of  dress — the  false  kind,  which  thinks  it's 
all  right  when  it  buys  pretty  things  and  hangs 
them  on  itself,  and  the  true  kind,  which  care- 
fully chooses  every  shade  of  colour  and  every 
bit  of  material  to  be  a  frame  and  set-off  for  the 
wearer's  particular  sort  of  good  looks.  You've 
got  the  insight  to  see  that  what  looks  like  a  bit 
of  brown  holland  when  laid  on  a  bed  or  hung 
on  a  peg  may  make  a  woman  lovely  enough  to 
turn  men's  heads,  while  a  confection  that  has  cost 
a  hundred  guineas  may  leave  everybody  cold. 
You've  only  got  to  look  around  here  to  see  that  it 
is  not  the  clothes  that  matter,  but  the  human  flesh 


THE  FEEDING  OF   LOVE  139 

and  blood  inside  them.  Why,  one  of  our  greatest 
society  beauties  once  went  through  a  London 
season  with  only  two  frocks  to  her  name — one  for 
day,  one  for  evening,  and  both  black.  And  yet 
she  outshone  everybody  else." 

We  were  going  into  the  concert  hall  and  there 
the  figure  of  Death  seemed  to  me  more  hideously 
clear  than  anywhere  else.  But  I  said  nothing  to 
Little  Yeogh  Wough  of  this  curious  oppression 
that  was  upon  me.  He  was  shyly  proud  of  having 
had  many  prizes,  and  I  went  on  talking  lightly, 
very  low,  as  we  waited  for  the  concert  to  begin. 

"  I  think  you'll  know  enough  about  women  to 
be  able  to  judge  them  well  for  yourself  when  you 
grow  up.  Look  at  that  girl  in  the  front  row  of 
seats  with  all  sorts  of  bits  of  chiffon  and  odd 
ribbons  about  her.  She  has  changed  her  position 
five  times  since  we  came  in,  trying  to  put  herself 
so  that  everybody  coming  up  the  middle  of  the 
hall  shall  take  notice  of  her.  And  do  you  see  how 
she  keeps  on  touching  her  bits  of  ribbon  and 
chiffon — pulling  them  out  or  patting  them  down  ? 
Well,  that's  the  kind  of  girl  you  must  avoid  when 
you're  grown  up.  She's  a  prinker,  and  a  prinker 
is  horrible.  You  see,  you  can  be  quite  sure  even 
before  looking  at  her  face  that  she  isn't  very 
pretty,  because  a  very  pretty  woman  doesn't 
need  to  prink  in  order  to  try  to  attract  notice. 
She  attracts  it  too  much.  She  would  rather  escape 
it  if  she  could.     So,  when  you  grow  up.  Little 


140  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Yeogh  Wough,  you  must  find  a  girl  whose  lovely 
head  and  full  throat  rise  best  from  out  a  plain 
linen  collar.  You  must  avoid  prinkers,  just  as  a 
woman  looking  for  a  husband  ought  to  avoid  a 
doxer." 

"  Whatever  is  a  doxer  ?  " 

"  A  doxer's  generally  a  man — a  man  who  smiles 
too  agreeably  and  moves  his  head  and  body  about 
in  a  funny  way  directly  he  gets  among  strangers. 
But  never  mind  the  doxers  or  the  prinkers, 
either.    I  want  to  listen  to  this  piece  by  Sibelius." 

The  strange  fear  of  the  future  clutched  at  my 
throat  more  and  more.  It  got  to  be  almost  more 
than  I  could  bear  when  a  little  later  the  most 
spirited  of  the  school  songs  swelled  into  the  air, 
sung  by  scores  of  voices  : 

"  Jolly,  oh,  jolly  at  eve.  ..." 

A  sob  rose  up  within  me  and  it  was  only  with 
difficulty  that  I  forced  it  back. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Big  Yeogh  Wough  ? " 
whispered  the  boy  beside  me. 

"It's  that  song.  It's  a  lovely  school  song,  but 
it's  the  saddest  thing  I've  ever  heard  in  my  life. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  can  see  generation  after 
generation  of  boys  rising  and  passing  along — 
passing  along  to  doom." 

Under  cover  of  the  music  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
spoke  in  a  whisper  again  : 

"  It's  a  grand  doom,  anyhow — if  you  mean  dying 


THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE  141 

for  one's  country.  Don't  you  think  it's  better  to 
have  your  name  on  the  walls  of  that  chapel  as 
having  died  fighting  than  to  live  a  long,  smooth 
life  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  is."  I  pulled  myself  together 
and  spoke  the  truth  as  I  knew  it.  "  They've  got 
the  best  of  it,  all  right — those  boys  who  died. 
But  still— it's  doom." 

"No!    No!    It's  glory." 

The  boy  used  to  say  that  the  only  hard  thing 
for  him  in  his  life  at  the  big  Public  School  was  the 
doing  without  my  half-hours  by  his  bedside  at 
night. 

We  were  never  quite  so  completely  in  touch 
with  each  other  when  we  did  not  get  these  talks. 

This  may  seem  a  strange  thing  to  say,  but  it  is 
the  truth. 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  sympathy  the  right 
of  entrance  into  another's  sleeping-room  means. 
It  is  all  very  well  for  people  like  George  Bernard 
Shaw  to  declare  that  the  custom  of  married  persons 
sleeping  together  is  an  outrageous  one  and  inter- 
feres with  the  liberty  of  the  individual,  but  if  in 
days  to  come  people  of  his  sort  get  their  way 
there  will  be  far  fewer  happy  marriages.  In  the 
sitting-rooms  of  the  home,  as  well  as  in  the  outside 
world,  there  are  always  things  happening  and 
influences  at  work  that  interfere  with  the  smooth 
flowing  of  the  magical  current  of  love  and  sweet- 


142  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

ness  between  husband  and  wife ;  and  if  there  is 
no  privacy  of  the  same  bedroom  to  put  this  dis- 
turbance right  every  evening,  what  is  to  become 
of  their  happiness  ? 

Some  people  seem  to  think  that  between  a  hus- 
band and  a  wife,  or  a  mother  and  son,  tenderness 
and  devotion  are  a  matter  of  course.  But  this  is 
not  so. 

Nothing  is  got  in  this  world  without  trouble. 
You  cannot  get  a  plant  to  thrive  in  your  window 
unless  you  give  it  attention  and  show  it  plainly 
that  you  want  it  to  thrive.  Then  do  you  suppose 
people  are  going  to  love  you  tenderly  unless  you 
cultivate  that  love  as  if  it  were  a  tomato  in  a 
greenhouse  ? 

Not  a  bit  of  it ;  not  even  if  you  are  the  most 
perfect  man  or  woman  in  the  world. 

I  have  an  aunt  who  is  devoted  to  me  when  we 
occupy  the  same  bedroom,  as  we  did  nearly  all 
through  my  childhood,  but  thinks  me  a  hateful 
person  when  we  only  see  each  other  casually. 
And  I  used  to  think  of  her  when,  owing  to  Little 
Yeogh  Wough's  absence  at  school,  my  nightly 
visits  to  his  room  to  see  him  in  bed,  as  he  called  it^ 
were  interrupted  for  long  weeks  at  a  time. 

I  knew  that  these  breaks  in  our  sacred  and  sweet 
night  talks  would  have  been  dangerous  if  our  love 
had  been  less  strong.  For  in  both  of  us,  just  as 
the  electric  current  is  tremendously  strong  when  it 
flows,  so  it  is  entirely  cut  off  and  dead  if  anything 


THE   FEEDING  OF  LOVE  143 

interferes  with  it  at  all.  When  I  am  not  burning 
hot  with  people  that  I  love  I  am  usually  icily  cold, 
even  to  the  point  of  wondering  whether  I  really 
love  them  at  all.  I  have  no  dribblings  of  mild 
affection.  So,  knowing  that  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
had  this  same  peculiarity,  I  used  to  be  afraid 
when  he  had  been  away  from  me  for  a  whole 
term. 

But  I  need  not  have  been  afraid. 

I  have  come  to  know  since  that  there  are  loves 
which  are  strong  enough  to  stand  any  test.  And 
the  love  between  him  and  me  is  one  of  these. 
Yet  he  had  so  much  worship  when  he  came  home 
for  his  holidays  that  he  ought  to  have  been  able 
to  do  without  mine. 

His  father  quickened  up.  The  children  quickened 
up.  Miss  Torry  quickened  up.  The  servants 
quickened  up.  The  very  dogs  understood  and 
showed  a  new  energy. 

But  he  got  a  good  deal  of  blame,  too,  when  Old 
Nurse  came  to  deal  with  his  things. 

"  Now  I  just  asks  you,  mum,  if  you  thinks  as 
these  'ere  myganas  are  the  sort  of  thing  that  a 
schoolboy  ought  to  get  for  hisself,"  said  she  in- 
dignantly. "  'E've  never  got  a  thought  except 
for  getting  what  'e  wants  and  when  'e  wants  it, 
cost  what  it  may.  And  you  that  devoted  to  'im 
as  you  sits  up  till  past  two  o'clock  every  morning 
a  thinkin'  about  'im  and  a  writin'  of  'im  letters  as 
would  cover  miles,  as  m'say  !  '* 


144  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

She  was  holding  out  the  most  bewitching  suit 
of  pyjamas  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  Hfe  : 
cream-coloured  ones,  soft  and  delicate,  with 
cherry-coloured  turned- out  collar  and  cuffs  and 
frogs.  Really,  I  quite  coveted  the  jacket  to  wear 
as  a  coat  over  a  cream  linen  skirt. 

"  And  there's  another  one  in  light  and  dark  blue, 
just  as  bad,"  went  on  the  worthy  old  creature 
confronting  me,  more  indignant  still.  "  I  calls  it 
disgraceful  extravagance.  I  can't  think  what 
they've  got  such  things  in  boys'  shops  for.  My- 
ganas  made  of  sacking  would  be  good  enough  for 
any  boy  living  while  he  was  in  his  teens,  even  if 
he  was  the  Prince  of  Wales.  And  his  socks  ! 
'E've  got  dozens  of  pairs  more  than  he  took  away 
with  'im — mauve  and  blue  and  green  and  all  with 
clogs." 

"  Clogs  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Then,  seeing  that  my  face  still  looked 
blank,  she  lifted  her  own  short  white  pique  skirt 
and  exhibited  one  of  her  sturdy  pillar-box  legs, 
while  she  pointed  to  the  clock  up  the  side  of  her 
black  stocking. 

"  Oh,  clocks  ?  Oh,  I  see  !  Oh,  well.  Nurse, 
never  mind  !  There  are  so  many  worse  things  he 
might  do  than  go  in  for  a  few  extravagances." 

"  Extravagances  !  'E've  got  no  more  idea  of 
money  than  that  there  dog  have." 

She  nodded  towards  the  black  Skye  terrier. 
And  I  laughed  to  myself  as  I  thought  how  true 


THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE  145 

had  been  an  opinion  passed  on  him  by  his  sharp 
httle  sister  when  she  had  said,  a  few  days 
earUer  : 

"  If  I  had  to  depend  on  either  of  my  brothers,  I 
would  rather  it  were  Evelyn.  He  would  only  take 
a  very  tiny  cottage  for  me  to  live  in,  but  he  would 
pay  for  it  always  ;  whereas  Roland  would  find  me 
a  palace,  saying  nothing  else  was  good  enough  for 
me,  and  then  would  forget  to  give  me  any  money 
to  keep  it  up.*' 

That  was  Little  Yeogh  Wough  all  over. 

We  did  not  always  talk  at  the  times  when  I 
went  in  to  see  him  in  bed.  Sometimes  we  stayed 
quite  quiet  all  the  time  that  I  was  there,  having 
only  our  hands  clasped.  Sometimes  we  sang 
songs  together,  English  and  French,  very  softly, 
so  that  people  passing  on  the  landing  outside 
might  not  think  us  lunatics.  He,  who  was  often 
so  shy  with  others,  was  as  free  from  self-con- 
sciousness with  me  as  if  he  had  been  alone.  I 
had  taught  him  to  be  so,  ever  since  he  was  two 
years  old.  The  wonderful  chord  of  love  and  sym- 
pathy between  us  was  so  strong  that  in  these 
precious  half- hours  at  the  end  of  the  day  he  could 
not  feel  any  constraint  with  me,  but  only  a  double 
freedom. 

Once  we  were  even  so  childish  as  to  try  who  could 
do  the  better  cat-calling.  But  whether  we  talked 
or  sang  or  cat-called,  we  got  to  love  each  other  more 
with  every  moment  that  we  passed  there  in  the 


146  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

darkness,  he  in  the  bed  with  his  big  lion-cub  head 
on  the  pillow  and  I  kneeling  beside  it,  with  my  face 
close  to  his. 

Whenever  he  came  back  from  school  it  was  with 
honours.  He  was  learning,  growing,  developing  in 
every  way.  He  was  learning  to  govern  himself 
and  through  this  to  govern  others.  And  to  this 
end,  and  this  end  only,  he  had  become  a  good 
cricketer  and  footballer. 

"  You  see.  Big  Yeogh  Wough,  I  had  to  do  it," 
he  explained.  "Boys  at  a  public  school  don't 
respect  brains  unless  the  boy  that's  got  the 
brains  is  good  at  games.  That's  why  a  letter  was 
written  to  you  asking  you  to  encourage  me  to  put 
my  heart  in  cricket  and  football." 

"  Well,  I  did  encourage  you,"  I  laughed.  "  For, 
though  I  can't  endure  the  man  who's  a  cricketer 
or  football  player  and  nothing  more,  yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  don't  like  the  man  who  can't  play 
games  at  all.  There's  always  something  wrong 
about  him,  as  there  is  about  a  man  who  never 
smokes.  Cricket  and  football  are  manure  for  the 
character  just  as  Greek  and  Latin  are  manure  for 
the  mind.  Only  one  doesn't  want  all  manure  and 
nothing  else." 

When  I  went  away  from  him  and  left  him  to  go 
to  sleep  I  always  felt  as  if  a  piece  of  living  radium 
had  had  its  activities  turned  off  for  a  few  hours. 
And  then,  night  after  night,  my  superstition 
would  get  hold  of  me  and  my  strong  belief  in  the 


THE  FEEDING  OF  LOVE  147 

law  of  Compensation  would  make  me  ask  myself 
the  question  over  and  over  again  : 

"  Am  I  paying  enough  to  Providence  for  the 
joy  of  having  him  ?  Am  I  suffering  enough  to 
deserve  him  ?  If  not,  where  is  the  payment  to 
come  in  ?  Because  it's  got  to  come  in  somewhere. 
He's  so  much  more  alive  than  most  other  people. 
Will  anything  happen  to  him  ?  Will  he  be  taken 
away  from  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  ANGER  OF  LOVE 

ONLY  once  in  all  his  life  has  Little  Yeogh 
Wough's  love  ever  seemed  to  fail  me,  and  that 
was  at  just  about  the  time  when  his  Public  School 
career  was  coming  to  a  close. 

I  had  done  a  thing  that  I  hardly  ever  do.  I  had 
defied  one  of  my  superstitions.  And  I  had  been 
punished  for  doing  it. 

My  husband  had  asked  me  to  let  him  paint  my 
portrait.  He  had  been  asking  me  the  same  thing 
for  years  past,  and  I  had  always  refused,  remember- 
ing the  injunction  that :  "  Thou  shalt  not  make 
to  thyself  the  likeness  of  anything  that  is  in  the 
heavens  above  or  the  earth  beneath  or  in  the 
waters  under  the  earth.'* 

Of  course  I  know  there  are  sophistical  people 
who  make  a  point  of  mixing  this  commandment 
up  with  the  sentence  that  follows  it  and  pretending 
that  it's  only  the  bowing  down  and  worshipping 
that  are  forbidden.  But  I  know  better.  I  have 
seen  times  without  number  the  fate  that  has  fol- 
lowed the  person  who,  not  being  a  royal  personage 
or  an  actor  or  an  actress,  or  a  Lord  Mayor,  has 

148 


THE   ANGER   OF  LOVE  149 

indulged  in  the  arrogant  joy  of  having  his  portrait 
painted. 

These  exceptions  that  I  have  made  are  safe 
enough,  because  it  is,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  their 
business  in  Hfe  to  have  their  portraits  painted,  as 
well  as  their  photographs  taken. 

"It  is  really  such  an  absurd  idea  of  yours,"  my 
husband  said  to  me.  "  It's  all  the  purest  non- 
sense. Of  course  a  lot  of  people  die  directly  they 
have  had  their  portraits  painted,  but  that's 
mainly  because  they're  usually  getting  on  for  a 
hundred  before  they  can  afford  to  pay  anybody  to 
do  them." 

"  There  may  certainly  be  something  in  that," 
I  agreed.  "  And  I  will  admit  this  much — that  I 
don't  think  this  superstition  applies  completely 
to  people  who  don't  believe  in  it.  But  unluckily 
I  do  believe  in  it.  Still,  your  not  being  a  profes- 
sional artist  may  make  a  difference.  If  you'll 
promise  to  do  the  thing  very  badly,  so  that  fate 
may  not  know  it's  meant  for  me,  I'll  let  you  do  it." 

I  don't  think  there  was  any  particular  reason 
why  fate  should  have  known  that  the  picture  was 
meant  for  me.  Indeed,  one  of  our  friends,  a  well- 
known  novelist,  cried  out  directly  he  caught  sight  of 
the  first  sketch  and  before  he  knew  whom  it  was 
meant  to  be,  that  it  was  the  best  portrait  he'd  ever 
seen  of  his  dear  and  lifelong  companion  the  late  Henry 
Irving.  Anyhow,  as  the  painting  progressed,  I  did 
what  was  for  me  an  extraordinary  thing — I  caught 


150  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

influenza.  And,  as  the  picture  grew  and  grew,  I 
got  worse  and  worse,  until  I  very  nearly  died  of 
oedema  of  the  lungs. 

Little  Yeogh  Wough  was  written  to  and  told  all 
about  it.  His  reply  was  a  telegram  to  his  father 
in  the  following  words  : 

"  Pray  convey  my  deepest  sympathy. — Roland." 

"  Pray  convey  my  deepest  sympathy. — Ro- 
land ! " 

He  has  never  forgotten  that  telegram  from  that 
day  to  this.  He  has  prayed  to  forget  it,  and  has 
never  been  able  to. 

It  did  me  more  good  than  twenty  doctors  could 
have  done.  I  sat  up  in  bed  and  threw  a  dressing- 
gown  round  my  shoulders  and  surveyed  the  blank 
faces  of  the  other  occupants  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  Miss  Torry,  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  What  I  think  ?  "  answered  Miss  Torry,  shak- 
ing her  head  hopelessly.  "  What  I  think  is — ^well, 
he  must  be  mad." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  /  think,"  ventured  Old 
Nurse,  not  looking  at  me  but  hurling  her  words 
like  bombs  at  my  secretary.  "  And  that  is  that 
he've  forgot  for  once  to  play  his  part  and  'e's 
showing  the  selfishness  that's  all  through  and 
through  him.  When  you  come  to  think  of  all  that 
his  mother  have  done  for  'im — and  'ow  she've 
made  a  god  of  him  and  knelt  down  and  worshipped 


THE  ANGER  OF   LOVE  151 

'im,  as  m'say,  and  put  everything  and  everybody 
else  to  one  side  for  'im — ^well,  if  I  was  'er  I*d  never 
take  the  trouble  to  turn  my  head  to  look  at  him 
again.  No,  that  I  wouldn't.  I'm  only  glad  as  she 
can  see  him  in  'is  true  light  at  last." 

"  That  telegram  is  like  a  message  from  a  Mayor 
and  Corporation  to  condole  with  royalty  on  the 
death  of  a  distant  cousin,"  I  said  bitterly.  "  Miss 
Torry,  will  you  go  downstairs  and  tell  them  to  get 
me  a  mutton  chop  and  to  send  it  up  as  soon  as 
possible  ?  I  see  it  doesn't  pay  me  to  be  ill.  I'm 
going  to  get  well,  portrait  or  no  portrait,  and  stand 
up  against  that  boy." 

"  I  don't  really  think  he  can  know  how  very  ill 
you've  been,"  said  Miss  Torry  gently.  "If  he 
does  know,  I'm  ashamed  of  him  for  a  heartless 
wretch.  But,  you  must  remember,  he's  not  accus- 
tomed to  your  ever  having  anything  the  matter 
with  you  and  he  may  think  the  news  sent  him  was 
exaggerated.  But,  anyhow,  I'm  cancelling  the 
order  I  was  sending  to  the  Stores  for  him.  He 
shall  have  no  cake,  no  biscuits  and  no  meat  tab- 
loids— and  I  only  hope  he's  got  no  pocket  money 
to  get  them  on  the  spot  for  himself." 

After  this,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been 
born,  I  fought  against  my  great  and  too-forgiving 
love  for  him  and  tried  to  cast  it  down.  And  when 
he  came  home  for  the  holidays  and  on  the  first 
evening  said  to  me,  as  always  : 

"  Come  and  see  me  in  bed,  mother." 


152  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

I  answered  him  very  coldly  : 

"  No/' 

There  is  no  anger  in  the  world  like  the  anger  of  a 
great  love  that  is  hurt. 

I  saw  a  shadow  come  into  his  deep  and  very  sad 
eyes. 

"  I  shan't  be  able  to  sleep  unless  you  come  and 
see  me  in  bed,"  he  said,  with  something  very  like 
a  break  in  his  voice. 

I  did  not  speak.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  choking.  He 
slid  one  hand  to  a  bowl  of  flowers,  took  a  piece  of 
pink  hyacinth  and  held  it  out  to  me. 

"Come — and  wear  that." 

Still  I  did  not  answer.  Then  a  knock  came  at 
the  door  and  Old  Nurse  walked  into  the  room. 

"  If  you  please, 'm,  when  I  asked  you  if  I  might 
go  out  for  two  hours  this  afternoon,  it  was  so  as  I 
might  go  and  see  the  doctor.  I  'aven't  been  feel- 
ing at  all  well  lately.  So  I  went  and  'e  kept  me 
an  hour  in  'is  insulting-room,  making  an  examina- 
tion. An'  'e  says  I  must  leave  here  and  go  into 
'ospital  and  'ave  an  operation." 

The  Boy  and  I  looked  at  each  other  with  laugh- 
ter in  our  eyes,  in  spite  of -the  gravity  of  her  an- 
nouncement. It  was  her  phrase  "  insulting- 
room  "  that  had  done  it. 

He  knew  now  that  I  should  come  and  see  him  in 
bed.  And  his  glad,  rich  voice  rang  out  with  a 
gladder,  richer  tone  than  ever  as  he  called  to  his 
father  from  the  other  side  of  a  locked  door  : 


THE   ANGER  OF  LOVE  153 

"  Father,  can  I  have  a  bath  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  as  you'll  'ave  much  chance  of 
one  this  evening,  Master  Roland,  unless  you  wants 
a  cold  one,"  broke  in  Old  Nurse,  speaking  from  the 
nursery.  "  Your  father  'ave  put  his  visiting-card 
on  the  'ot- water  tap  and  I  can't  venture  to  take  a 
drop  of  the  'ot,  not  even  for  the  children." 

"  It  will  be  all  right,  Roland,"  I  said,  running 
upstairs  and  proceeding  to  smooth  matters  for 
him. 

For  a  long  while  that  evening  I  knelt  by  his  bed 
without  either  of  us  saying  a  word.  Then  at  last 
he  spoke  : 

''  It  won't  matter  much  what  things  go  wrong 
with  me  in  life  if  only  I  can  always  have  you  to 
say  good  night  to  me." 

"  You  might  easily  never  have  had  me  to  say 
good  night  to  you  again,  Little  Yeogh  Wough. 
I  very  nearly  died  about  a  month  ago.  You  didn't 
believe  it,  of  course,  because  I  am  so  strong.  But 
it  was  very  cruel  of  you  to  send  that  telegram." 

"  I  didn't  send  it.  Another  boy  sent  it.  That 
doesn't  make  things  any  better,  I  know,  but  it 
happened  that  something' went  wrong  at  the  house 
just  then  and  I  couldn't  leave,  and  yet  I  wanted  to 
send  the  telegram  at  once,  and  so  I  asked  a 
boy  who  was  going  into  the  town  to  send  it.  He 
said  he  could  remember  it  and  didn't  want  it 
written  out,  and  then  he  forgot  it  and  put  words 
of  his  own.    There,  now  you  know  how  it  was." 


154  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before,  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  ?  It  would  have  saved  me  so  much 
suffering.  You  see,  when  a  selfish  woman,  such 
as  I've  always  been,  loves  unselfishly,  it  isn't  a  joy 
but  a  pain — one  long  aching  pain  all  the  time " 

I  broke  off  and  he  patted  my  cheek  with  one  of 
his  hands  that  were  now  so  big  and  strong. 

"  This  doesn't  look  very  promising  for  my  going 
into  the  Indian  Civil  Service,"  he  said,  half  play- 
fully. "  Oh,  by  the  way,  a  week  before  I  came 
away  from  school  a  fellow  who  had  been  studying 
up  palmistry  looked  at  my  hands  and  told  me 
I'm  going  to  die  a  violent  death  by  a  bullet  or  the 
explosion  of  a  shell.  So  that  looks  like  India, 
doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  looks  like  sedition.  If  you  gave  your 
life  like  that  for  your  country,  it  would  be  terrible, 
but  I  should  be  proud.  Oh,  if  only  I  could  one  day 
see  you  another  John  Nicholson! " 

"  I  believe  you'd  rather  have  me  another 
Nicholson  or  Rhodes  than  another  Shakespeare." 

"  Yes,  I  would.  I  don't  know  why.  I  don't 
understand  it  myself.  But  I  believe  that  every 
woman,  even  the  brainiest,  carries  a  man  of 
Action  hidden  away  somewhere  within  her.  I 
can't  help  feeling  that  it's  a  greater  thing  to  have 
given  your  name  to  Rhodesia  than  to  have  written 
'  Hamlet.'  But  what  I  love  in  you  is  that  you've 
got  the  book  brain  and  the  other  brain,  too. 
You've  learnt  all  that  the  University  fogies  know 


THE  ANGER  OF  LOVE  155 

without  letting  yourself  become  a  fogy  in  doing 
it.  Do  you  know,  your  classical  master  told  some- 
body the  other  day  that  you  were  meteoric  and 
that  nobody  could  be  compared  with  you  ?  And 
he  didn't  know  that  the  remark  would  ever  be 
repeated  to  me.'* 

"  I  don't  like  Latin  and  Greek  a  bit,  really,"  he 
smiled.  "  I'm  only  good  at  them  because  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  would  be.  But  I  shouldn't  like  a 
life  of  mere  bodily  exercise  only,  like  a  soldier's.  I 
don't  know  yet  what  I  want.  You  know.  Big  Yeogh 
Wough,  old  proverbs  are  very  silly.  There's  that 
one  about  a  contented  mind  being  a  continual 
feast.  It  ought  to  be  altered  to  '  A  contented 
mind  is  a  continual  beast,'  because  nobody  that's 
got  one  can  ever  do  anything  in  the  world,  either 
for  himself  or  anybody  else.  But,  of  course,  the 
discontent  must  be  good-tempered.  I  don't  mean 
that  silly  people  ought  to  say  they  won't  sweep 
the  roads  because  they're  waiting  to  get  up  some 
day  to  the  throne.  But  I  think  everybody  ought 
to  do  a  little  striving  after  something  higher." 

After  a  few  minutes  I  said  : 

"  It  will  be  a  dreadful  thing  for  me  to  have  to 
say  good-bye  to  you  if  you  ever  do  go  out  to  India, 
Little  Yeogh  Wough." 

His  arm  stole  round  my  neck.  And  as  he  held 
me  like  this  I  found  myself  saying  over,  half  to 
him  and  half  to  myself,  some  lines  that  I  had 
taught  him  long  before  from  the  '  Children's  Song  ': 


156  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  '  Land  of  our  Birth,  we  pledge  to  thee 
Our  love  and  toil  in  the  years  to  be  ; 
When  we  axe  grown  and  take  our  place, 
As  men  and  women  with  our  race. 

Father  in  Heaven  who  lovest  all. 

Oh,  help  Thy  children  when  they  call ! 

Teach  us  to  bear  the  yoke  in  youth. 
With  steadfastness  and  careful  truth  ; 
That,  in  our  time.  Thy  Grace  may  give 
The  Truth  whereby  the  Nations  live. 

Teach  us  to  rule  ourselves  alway, 
Controlled  and  cleanly  night  and  day  ; 
That  we  may  bring,  if  need  arise. 
No  maimed  and  worthless  sacrifice.' 

"  Good  night,  boy  of  my  heart !  " 

"  Good  night,  Big  Yeogh  Wough." 

At  his  room  door  I  looked  back  to  say  hghtly  : 

"  Anyhow,  even  if  there  is  any  truth  in  your 

friend's  prophecy,  I  daresay  I  shall  be  dead  and 

buried  before  that  bullet  or  that  shell  hits  you  in 

India." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  to  happen  till  I'm  sixty !    So,  you 

see,  whatever  I  may  do,  I  shall  be  quite  safe  till 

then." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE 

*'  Dew  on  the  pink-flushed  petals  ; 
Roseate  wings  unfurled  : 
What  can,  I  thought,  be  fairer 
In  all  the  world  ? 

Steps  that  were  fain,  but  faltered, 
(What  could  she  else  have  done  ?) 
Passed  from  the  arbour's  shadow 
Into  the  sun. 

Noon  and  a  scented  glory, 
Golden  and  pink  and  red  : 
What,  after  all,  are  roses 
To  me  ?  I  said." 

Little  Yeogh  Wough. 

HE  was  at  Aldershot  with  the  Officers'  Train- 
ing Corps  of  his  school  on  that  Fourth  of 
August  on  which  the  world  looked  in  the  face  of 
the  fact  that  Great  Britain  had  declared  war 
against  Germany. 

One  never  knows  one  has  been  living  through 
happy  days  until  they  have  gone.  Then,  looking 
back,  one  sees  that  the  way  of  life  that  one  had 
thought  quite  grey  and  ordinary  was  all  aglow  with 
heavenly  light. 

167 


158  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

A  good  many  things  had  happened  since  the  night 
when  the  Boy  and  I  had  patched  up  the  Httle 
trouble  between  us  over  his  telegram.  And  one 
of  these  things  was  that  he  had  finished  his  last 
term  at  his  school  in  a  blaze  of  honours. 

He  had  been,  perhaps,  rather  too  brilliant  a 
meteor  there,  so  that  the  sky  was  likely  to  seem 
grey  after  he  had  vanished  from  it.  He  had  won 
a  scholarship  for  a  great  Oxford  college,  and  he 
looked  into  a  future  so  gloriously  golden  that  he 
himself  had  almost  turned  his  eyes  from  it,  dazzled 
and  half  afraid. 

Some  months  before  this  he  had  brought  home 
once  on  a  week's  visit  one  of  his  two  best  friends, 
a  very  tall  and  straight  and  serious  boy  called 
Edward  Brennan.  My  first  ideas  of  Edward  were 
that  he  did  not  greatly  care  for  womankind  and 
that,  considering  that  he  was  so  young,  he  had  an 
astonishing  worship  of  the  music  of  Beethoven. 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  I  had  said  to  him  once. 
"  Oh,  of  course  I  recognise  that  Beethoven  is  very 
great,  and  all  that,  and  I  like  his  music  about 
twice  a  year  when  I  feel  ecclesiastical ;  but  on  the 
whole  he  always  strikes  me  as  a  composer  who  was 
born  an  old  man  and  who  made  music  for  old  men." 

*' Why,  mother  always  worships  old  men!"  put 
in  Little  Yeogh  Wough  mischievously. 

"  Yes,  but  not  as  musical  composers,"  I  retorted. 
"  You  see,  I've  got  a  mind  that  always  has  what 
you  may  call  the  apple-blossom  feeling  in  it,  and 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  159 

anything  fusty  always  repels  me.  I  would  run 
miles  bare-foot  to  avoid  seeing  Stonehenge  or  any 
ruins.  It's  good  that  those  things  should  be  in  the 
world  in  order  to  give  the  dry-as-dust  people 
something  to  do  to  write  about  them  ;  but  in 
general  I  agree  with  Emerson  that  it's  not  the  busi- 
ness of  the  rose  that  blooms  to-day  to  worry  itself 
into  wrinkles  about  the  roses  that  bloomed  even 
yesterday — much  less  two  thousand  years  ago." 

And  then  the  rather  cold  Edward  had  quite 
warmed  up  and  had  done  a  thing  that  I  liked.  He 
had  actually  had  the  boldness  to  hold  back  my 
arm  when  I  was  putting  a  modern  French  serenade 
record  on  the  gramophone,  and  insist  on  substitut- 
ing for  it  a  part  of  "  Leonora." 

"  All  right,  Edward.  I'll  make  a  bargain  with 
you.  If  you'll  try  to  talk  French  a  little  every  day 
and  to  read  George  Meredith,  I'll  try  to  like 
Beethoven." 

But  the  most  important  fact  about  Edward,  so 
far  as  I  personally  was  concerned,  was  one  which 
I  did  not  take  properly  into  account  till  after- 
wards.   And  that  was  the  fact  that  he  had  a  sister. 

I  had  heard  that  he  had  one,  of  course.  I  knew 
that  already,  before  Roland  went  to  Edward's 
people  on  a  visit.  But  then — so  many  boys  have 
sisters  ! 

My  first  suspicions  had  been  aroused  when  the 
Boy  had  come  back,  and  began  writing  letters. 

It  seems  a  funny  thing  to  say,  but  I  can  always 


160  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

tell  what  is  in  people's  minds  when  I  see  them 
write  letters. 

To  begin  with,  I  never  feel  quite  comfortable 
when  people  are  writing  letters  in  the  same  room 
with  me.  Of  course,  this  is  really  laughably 
childish  and  quite  unjustifiable,  but  I  am  not  by 
any  means  the  only  person  who  has  the  feeling. 
There  are  some  people  who  have  to  get  up  and  go 
out  of  rooms  where  their  relatives  are  writing 
letters,  lest  they  should  deal  them  mortal  blows 
over  the  head. 

This  doesn't  apply  to  offices,  of  course,  or  to 
people  who  write  business  letters.  I  myself  feel 
quite  unperturbed  when  a  business  letter  is  getting 
written  ;  and  I  always  know  that  it's  a  business 
letter,  though  a  guest  in  our  house  may  be  writing 
it  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  to  where  I  am 
sitting.  There  is  something  in  the  air  of  the 
writer  which  seems  to  say  :  "I'm  only  writing 
this  because  I've  got  to.    I  wouldn't  do  it  else." 

But  when  a  lot  of  ordinary  persons  sit  down  to 
write  futile  screeds  that  are  not  wanted,  to  other 
ordinary  people  who,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
couldn't  tell  you  if  they  tried  how  the  postal 
system  is  worked,  they  do  it  with  an  air  of  defiant 
importance  which  says  as  plainly  as  possible  : 

"  Of  course,  you  think  you're  the  only  person  in 
the  world  whose  correspondence  matters.  But 
you're  quite  mistaken.  We  have  friends,  too — 
most  valuable  friends — who  absolutely  insist  on 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  161 

getting  letters  from  us  as  frequently  as  possible. 
Miss  Violet  Smithers  wrote  to  me  yesterday — we 
were  at  a  boarding-school  together  in  Lower 
Norwood  for  three  years — and  I  must  answer  her 
to-day.  I  can't  help  it  if  you  want  the  only  stamp 
in  the  house  for  a  legal  document  which  will  be- 
come invalid  if  not  sent  to-day,  and  every  post 
office  within  ten  miles  is  shut  under  some  new 
closing  regulation.  Miss  Violet  Smithers  must 
have  her  letter." 

I  knew  an  old  gentleman  once  who  went  abso- 
lutely off  his  head  because  of  the  immense  volume 
of  his  servants'  correspondence.  He  danced  with 
fury  on  his  gouty  feet  when  he  met  his  domestics 
"  just  going  to  the  post,  sir,"  and  in  the  end  he  an- 
nounced to  me  his  intention  of  retiring  to  a  cottage 
where  only  one  servant  would  be  necessary  and  he 
was  going  to  advertise  for  her,  offering  fancy  wages 
if  she  answered  the  following  description  : 

"  Orphan  who  has  lost  both  parents  ;  absolutely 
friendless ;  no  sweetheart  and  totally  unable  either 
to  read  or  to  write." 

I  never  knew  whether  he  found  his  treasure  or 
not. 

After  which,  I  will  go  back  to  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
and  to  the  fact  that  when  I  saw  him  spending 
two  or  three  hours  sitting  quite  still  at  a  table 
with  his  fine  shoulders  and  his  lion-cub  head  bent 
over  a  lengthy  epistle,  I  began  to  think  that  there 
must  be  something  a  little  wrong  somewhere. 


162  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

And  when  he  followed  this  up  by  spending  an 
entire  morning,  from  breakfast  to  luncheon, 
making  up  one  small  parcel,  my  doubts  became 
certainties. 

"  Is  that  parcel  intended  for  the  King  or  Queen, 
Roland  ?  "  I  asked  him  when  he  had  finished  and 
had  carefully  conveyed  the  package  away  to  his 
own  room,  in  order,  I  guessed,  that  nobody  might 
see  the  address  on  it. 

He  looked  at  me  and  laughed. 

"  What  do  you  mean.  Big  Yeogh  Wough  ?  " 

"  Why,  you've  sent  out  for  some  new  brown 
paper  because  all  the  pieces  in  the  house  are 
crumpled,  and  you've  been  most  particular  about 
getting  a  smooth  piece  of  string  without  any  knots 
in  it,  and  I  heard  you  remarking  to  your  sister 
that  it  is  a  pity  that  labels  are  not  made  more 
artistic." 

He  laughed  again,  but  said  nothing  more.  And  I 
did  not  say  anything  more,  either.  I  waited  until 
his  second  friend,  whom  he  called  "  The  Father 
Confessor,"  came  down  to  us  on  a  visit  in  the 
house  on  the  East  Coast,  and  I  put  a  few  discreet 
questions  to  him  as  we  sat  together  talking  on  the 
Chesterfield  in  the  dining-room,  late  at  night. 

"  I  was  so  sorry  that  we  could  not  get  to  the  last 
Speech  Day,  Victor.  It  was  lawyers'  business  that 
kept  me  away.  Nothing  else  should  have  done  so. 
I  simply  could  not  go  that  day,  nor  Roland's  father 
either.     I  am  afraid  Roland  was  very  much  dis- 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  168 

appointed.  He  seemed  to  hold  on  to  our  being 
there  this  last  time." 

"  Yes.  He  did  hold  on  to  it,  I  know.  He'd  been 
wanting  you  to  come  particularly.  It  was  such  a 
triumph  for  him  !  And  he'd  deserved  it,  too. 
He'd  gone  without  sleep  for  three  or  four  nights  a 
week  to  get  those  prizes  and  those  honours." 

"  Had  he  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Of  course,  even  a  wonderful  fellow  like 
Roland  can't  do  everything,  and  what  with  his 
school  prsepositorship  and  his  school  magazine 
work  and  his  debating  and  his  looking  after  the 
house  and  his  cooking  and  his  running  everything 
and  everybody  he  ever  came  across,  he  hadn't 
time  in  the  hours  of  the  day  to  win  examinations. 
So  he  used  to  go  to  bed  at  eleven  and  then  be  down 
in  his  study  again  on  the  quiet  at  one  o'clock  and 
work  from  then  till  the  ordinary  time  to  get  up." 

I  caught  my  breath.  Oh,  my  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  !  It  was  reckless  and  dangerous,  but  it 
was  just  what  I  should  have  expected  of  you. 
You're  not  the  boy  to  look  at  the  clock  to  see  if 
he's  worked  long  enough  and  leave  a  precious  job 
unfinished  because  the  hour  for  ''  Down  tools  !  " 
has  struck. 

But  I  returned  to  the  business  I  had  in  hand. 

"  Of  course,  we  knew  that  Roland  wouldn't  be 
lonely,  even  though  we  couldn't  get  down  for 
that  day,"  I  went  on.  "  He  had  so  many  friends 
there." 


164  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  Oh,  no,  he  wasn't  lonely  !  He  was  with  Edward 
and  his  people  most  of  the  day." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course!  Was  Edward's  father 
there  ?  " 

"  No,  not  his  father.  His  mother  and  sister 
came.  I  don't  think  they'd  meant  to  come,  only 
they  wanted  to  see  you." 

I  laughed.  "  I  remember,  Roland  told  me  they 
wanted  to  see  me.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why. 
Is  Edward's  sister  like  Edward — ^very  tall  and 
straight  and  rather  formal  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  She's  not  a  bit  like  Edward.  She*s 
not  like  anybody  else  that  ever  I  knew.  She's 
quite  little  and  very  clever.  I  dare  say  you'd  like 
her  awfully." 

I  laughed  again. 

"  You  are  funny,  Victor.  You're  quite  un- 
doing my  ideas  of  Edward's  sister.  Does  she  wear 
long-bodied  blouses,  with  very  high  necks — at  the 
back,  anyhow — bought  ready  made  from  the 
drapers  that  advertise  in  the  daily  papers  ?  " 

He  looked  puzzled.    I  went  on  : 

"  Does  she  wear  a  wrist  watch  and  keep  on 
jerking  her  arm  up  at  an  angle  to  see  the  time  by 
it  ?  Does  she  have  little  bits  of  tulle  bows  tied 
under  her  ears  and  little  frills  and  odds  and  ends 
of  ribbon  wherever  they  can  be  put,  and  a  very 
ornamental  waist-belt,  and  a  general  look  as  if  her 
highest  idea  of  good  style  were  to  sit  in  the  dress 
circle  of  a  theatre  at  a  matinee  ?  " 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  165 

Poor  Victor  !  It  was  no  wonder  that  he  looked 
at  me  in  more  and  more  perplexity.  Yet  he  did 
grasp  something  of  what  I  meant,  for  he  answered 
gravely : 

"  I  don't  think  she's  that  sort,  a  bit.  She  had  a 
very  pretty  dress  on  on  Speech  Day,  and  I  think 
it  was  quite  a  Frenchy  sort — the  kind  of  thing 
that  Roland  likes.  And  she  doesn't  wear  bits  of 
tulle  and  frills.  She's  quite  plain  about  the 
neck." 

"  Then  she  must  be  good-looking !  "  I  exclaimed. 
And  I  added  to  myself :  "  She  must  be  a  girl  of 
fascination — a  girl  to  be  reckoned  with  ! — and  not 
a  mere  stick  to  hang  drapers'  advertised  wares 
upon." 

The  next  day  The  Bystander  slipped  close  to  my 
side  in  the  garden  and  said  : 

"  Mother,  I've  found  out  what  book  it  is  that 
Roland  has  sent  to  Edward's  sister.  You  see,  the 
people  in  the  shop  where  he  got  it  asked  me  just 
now  if  I  thought  he  wanted  to  pay  for  it  separately 
or  if  they  should  put  it  down  on  the  account. 
It's  '  The  Story  of  an  African  Farm.'  " 

I  had  a  feeling  as  if  something  were  clutching  at 
my  heart.  I  said  a  few  words  in  answer  and  then 
I  went  to  the  back  drive  and  walked  up  and  down 
there  by  myself. 

I  was  glad  Little  Yeogh  Wough  was  out.  I 
wanted  to  be  apart  from  him  and  to  think. 

"  If  he  has  sent  Vera  Brennan  '  The  Story  of  an 


166  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

African  Farm,'  then  she  can't  be  the  ordinary 
sort  of  girl,"  I  thought.  "  She  can't  be  of  the  great 
army  of  those  who  play  games  and  are  always 
taking  bodily  exercise,  yet  never  by  any  chance 
do  anything  more  useful  than  arrange  cut  flowers. 
He  could  have  passed  on  his  way  among  thousands 
of  these  without  taking  any  notice  of  them.  She 
must  be  a  personality — one  of  the  few  girls  who 
can  think  and  are  not  afraid  to  do  it ;  one  of  the 
few  who  know  what  real  romance  is  and  who, 
because  they  know  this,  will  always  be  able  to 
marry  as  often  as  they  like,  no  matter  how  small 
the  number  of  marriageable  men  may  be,  while 
other  women  stand  around  and  gasp  for  a  husband 
in  vain.  And  if  she  is  this — then  he  is  not  wholly 
and  only  mine  now  as  he  was  a  few  weeks  ago. 
He  will  never  be  wholly  mine  any  more." 


"So  we  are  in  it.  We  are  in  the  European 
Soup,"  I  wrote  to  Little  Yeogh  Wough  in  his 
Officers'  Training  Corps  camp  at  Aldershot,  when 
war  had  been  declared. 

But  he  was  beside  me  before  my  letter  could 
have  reached  him. 

"  The  War  Office  broke  us  up,"  he  explained. 
"  There  was  no  room  there  any  more  for  boys 
who  were  only  playing  at  soldiering.  But  I'm 
going  to  do  the  real  thing.  I'm  going  to  set  about 
it  to-morrow." 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  16T 

"  Yes,"  I  told  him,  "  you  must  go.  It  is  the 
right  thing  for  you  to  do." 

He  looked  at  his  father  and  heard  from  him 
again  the  same  words,  more  emphatically  repeated  : 

"  Yes.    It*s  the  right  thing  for  you  to  do." 

He  was  very  silent  that  evening,  but  it  was  very 
gaily  and  proudly  that  he  set  out  next  morning  to 
fling  himself  into  the  sudden  feverish  activity  of  a 
certain  garrison  town  not  far  away. 

"  He  won't  be  long  getting  his  commission," 
his  father  said.  "  His  five  years  in  the  Officers' 
Training  Corps  have  taught  him  his  work  already." 

But  at  the  end  of  that  day,  and  at  the  end  of 
many  another  day  that  followed,  the  Boy  came 
back  with  a  wistful  disappointment  written  upon 
his  handsome  face. 

He  always  had  the  same  story  to  tell — a  story 
of  having  been  welcomed  and  encouraged  when 
he  had  first  presented  himself  and  promised  all 
that  his  heart  desired,  so  that  only  he  passed  the 
doctor's  requirements. 

He  had  laughed  at  first  at  the  bare  idea  of 
meeting  with  any  difficulty  in  connection  with 
the  doctor.  Those  who  had  made  him  the  pro- 
mises had  been  quite  confident,  too,  on  this  point. 
What  could  there  be  wrong  with  a  splendid  physique 
such  as  his  ? 

"  And  then  I  failed  in  the  eyesight  test,"  he 
finished  up.  "  It  is  ridiculous,  of  course,  that  they 
should  reject  me  for  so  little,  because  I  don't  have 


168  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

to  wear  glasses  now  for  anything,  and  no  ordinary 
person  would  know  there  was  anything  wrong  with 
my  eyes  at  all.  I  wonder  if  this  sort  of  thing  is 
going  to  keep  on  repeating  itself  ?  One  or  two  of 
the  officers  suggested  another  doctor,  but  I  suppose 
that  as  long  as  that  wretched  test  board  is  put  up 
and  they  find  I  can't  read  the  small  type  on  it  at 
a  given  distance,  one  doctor  will  be  the  same  as 
another.*' 

He  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  restlessly. 
His  fine  dark  eyes — so  much  too  beautiful  to  have 
an  eagle's  sight — were  sadder  than  ever  in  their 
wistful  mortification. 

"  You  poor  boy !  You've  always  had  every- 
thing so  much  your  own  way  in  life  that  you  can't 
understand  being  beaten  back  anjnvhere.  But, 
you  know,  you  always  say  that  you've  never  got 
anything  important  yet  the  very  first  time  you've 
tried  for  it." 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  different !  And  if  I  can't  get 
into  the  Army,  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?  I  can't  go 
to  Oxford.  There'll  be  nobody  there  except 
cripples.  I  should  feel  it  a  disgrace  to  be  seen 
there.  Just  fancy  my  walking  about  there, 
looking  as  fit  as  I  do,  when  every  other  decent 
fellow  is  fighting  !  What  do  you  think  people 
would  think  of  me — yes,  and  even  say  to  me  ? 
Nobody  would  ever  believe  I've  got  anything  the 
matter  with  me,  eyes  or  anything  else,  unless  I 
wore  a  label  round  my  neck.  Oh,  Big  Yeogh  Wough, 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  169 

what  am  I  going  to  do  ?  You've  no  idea  what  it 
felt  Hke  to-day  to  have  to  go  out  from  among 
them — those  officers  who*d  been  quite  eager  to 
have  me  with  them." 

He  flung  himself  down  heavily  into  a  chair.  He 
had  not  yet  taken  off  his  overcoat  and  I  could  see 
that  he  was  very  tired.  I  bent  over  him  and  kissed 
him. 

"  You  dear  big  boy  !  I  suppose  it's  just  because 
of  your  strength  that  you're  always  so  piteous 
when  anything  doesn't  go  quite  right  with  you. 
You  can  always  move  mountains  yourself  and  so 
it  breaks  you  down  to  find  a  mountain  in  your 
path  that  you  haven't  the  right  to  try  to  move. 
Never  mind.  Things  will  work  themselves  out  all 
right." 

"  And  to  think  that  Edward  has  been  passed  !  " 
he  burst  out.    "  He's  sure  of  his  commission  now. 

He's  only  got  to  wait  for  it.    And  I !     Look 

here,  I'll  go  and  have  another  try  to-morrow  at  a 
different  place  and  if  I'm  rejected  again  I'll  go 
over  and  join  the  French  army." 

"  Better  offer  to  help  Colonel  Crompton  here 
with  the  recruiting,"  put  in  his  father,  quietly. 
"  You'd  be  wearing  your  O.T.C.  uniform  and  doing 
useful  work  and  through  it  you  might  get  your 
chance." 

It  was  a  good  idea,  and  the  Boy  saw  it. 

''  Yes,  I  think  I'll  do  that.  I'll  have  a  try  at 
Bury  St.  Edmunds  to-morrow,  and  if  the  doctor 


170  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

there  doesn't  slip  me  through  the  eyesight  test  I'll 
go  round  and  help  the  dear  old  colonel  and  work 
my  way  in  sideways.  After  all,  if  I'm  a  good 
soldier  and  strong  and  healthy,  what  on  earth  does 
it  matter  that  I  can't  see  the  enemy  coming 
behind  bushes  five  miles  off  ?  When  it  comes  to 
that,  one  uses  field  glasses." 

"  That's  the  right  way  to  look  at  it,"  I  told  him, 
*'  The  bright  side  of  everything  is  really  the  truest 
side.  That's  why  I'm  sorry  Miss  Torry  isn't  here 
now.  She'd  only  have  to  cry  out :  '  Lpr'  ! 
You've  only  got  to  try  twenty-three  and  three- 
quarter  times  more  and  you're  sure  to  get  what 
you  want.'  That  irrepressible  sort  of  person  is  so 
helpful  in  life — so  different  from  Old  Nurse's 
sort.  Old  Nurse  would  have  said  to  you  :  '  Well, 
Master  Roland,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  expect 
them  to  take  you,  seein'  as  I've  always  told  you 
as  you've  got  an  'undredth  part  of  an  inch  more 
toe  -  nail  on  your  right  big  toe  than  on  your 
left.'  " 

The  reference  to  toe-nails  must  have  made  him 
glance  at  my  feet,  for  his  face  suddenly  bright- 
ened as  he  said  : 

"  Oh,  you've  got  my  scarlet  silk  stockings  on — 
the  pair  I  gave  you  for  a  birthday  present  when  I 
was  ten  years  old  !  They  do  look  lovely.  I'm 
so  glad  you've  put  them  on.  Only  just  seeing 
them  has  taken  all  my  tiredness  and  bitterness 
away.    They  make  life  worth  living  again." 


IN   THE  DANGER  ZONE  171 

"You  funny  boy!  How  many  people,  do  you 
think,  would  know  what  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  Not  many,  I  dare  say,  but  that's  their  fault, 
not  mine.  I  always  feel  so  sorry  for  them — for 
the  people  who  can't  understand  why  the  sight  of 
such  things  as  scarlet  silk  stockings,  and  Parma 
violets,  and  black  fox  fur,  and  blue  hyacinths, 
and  pink  carnations,  helps  one  to  live." 

"  Sulphur  carnations,"  I  put  in.  "  Sulphur 
yellow  is  the  adored  colour  of  my  womanhood,  just 
as  salmon  pink  was  the  adored  colour  of  my  child- 
hood. For  years  of  my  little  girlhood  I  spent  all 
my  pocket  money  on  either  salmon-pink  ribbon  or 
white  narcissi.  I  would  have  gone  without  food  or 
clothes  to  get  either  of  these  things.  Of  course,  I 
shouldn't  say  this  if  anybody  were  here  but  our- 
selves. The  servants  would  think  me  mad  if  they 
heard  me — just  as  they  would  think  you  either 
mad,  or  bad,  or  both,  for  your  joy  in  my  scarlet 
silk  stockings.  I  remember  Old  Nurse's  amaze- 
ment when  you  bought  them  for  me.  She  would 
have  thought  it  more  natural  for  you  to  have 
bought  me  a  satchel  or  a  bottle  of  cheap  lavender 
water  or  something  else  quite  ordinary  and  re- 
spectable. .  .  .  But,  anyhow,  I'm  afraid  the  time 
for  beautiful  things  is  over  for  two  or  three  years. 
The  war  is  going  to  grind  us  down  very  low  before 
it's  done  with." 

He  was  so  much  brightened  up  that  his  failure 
to  pass  the  eyesight  test  again  next  day  did  not 


172  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

dismay  him  in  the  least.  He  offered  his  help  to 
the  lovable  colonel  who  was  the  recruiting  officer 
for  the  district  and  who  was  sorely  overworked 
already,  and  was  soon  throwing  his  whole  heart 
into  the  business  of  bimdling  into  His  Majesty's 
Forces  as  many  young  men  as  he  could  get 
hold  of. 

He  began  with  our  cook,  who  had  always  had  a 
weakness  for  him. 

"  Joanna,  your  young  man  ought  to  enlist. 
He's  such  a  splendid  fellow.  The  Army  can't  do 
without  him." 

"  Oh,  Master  Roland  !  " 

She  began  a  string  of  objections  and  excuses. 
But  Little  Yeogh  Wough  got  his  way,  as  |he 
always  did  when  there  was  no  red  tape  to  come 
up  against. 

"  You  seem  to  have  quite  forgotten  that  you 
want  a  commission  for  yourself,  Roland,"  I  said 
to  him  after  he  had  done  a  fortnight  of  in- 
defatigable recruiting  work. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  haven't.  But  I've  found  out  that  the 
best  way  to  get  the  thing  you  want  is  to  work  hard 
at  something  else,  and  then  the  other  thing  falls 
into  your  lap.  There  was  a  Lord  Chief  Justice 
once — I  forget  which  one — who,  when  he  was  a  boy, 
drove  his  father  to  despair  because  he  wouldn't 
study  law  but  would  go  on  the  stage.  But  he  ended 
up  as  Lord  Chief  Justice  a  good  deal  quicker^than 
if  he  had  taken  to  the  law  at  first.    I'm  going  to 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  173 

do  that  with  my  soldiering.     I've  got  an  idea. 

You  wait  a  bit.    I'm  going  down  to  Doctor  S 

to  ask  him  to  give  me  a  certificate  of  physical 
fitness.  I  shan't  say  a  word  about  eyesight,  and 
he  won't  think  of  it.  He's  never  heard  a  whisper 
of  there  being  anything  wrong  with  mine.  But  he 
does  know  that  I'm  as  tough  as  a  young  horse, 
and  he'll  be  glad  enough  to  write  down  that  he 
knows  it." 

Armed  with  this  document,  which  was  given 
him  in  all  good  faith,  he  went  to  yet  another 
garrison  town,  where  he  had  come  to  know  a  major 
who  was  going  to  be  put  in  command  of  a  new 
battalion.  This  major  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
him  ;  and  the  result  was  that  one  evening  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  came  home  and  announced  that  at 
last  he  had  got  his  heart's  desire. 

"  It's  a  certainty,  Big  Yeogh  Wough.  It  can't 
go  wrong  now.  It  was  that  certificate  that  did  it. 
They  never  put  me  through  any  eyesight  test  at 
all.  Now  I  can  look  Edward  Brennan  in  the  face. 
Let  us  have  him  here  for  a  week." 

I  told  him  how  glad  I  was.  And  it  was  true  that 
I  was  glad,  for  his  whole  look  had  changed. 

But  deep  down  in  my  heart  I  felt  as  if  an  iron 
hand  were  clutching  at  me. 

"  Once  I  get  the  commission,  I'll  soon  manage 
to  get  out  to  the  Front,"  he  laughed  confidently. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  and  laughed  too.  But  the  iron 
clutch  at  my  heart  came  again. 


174  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  I  must  see  about  my  outfit  at  once.  And  then 
I  shall  have  to  go  into  rooms  at  Norwich  to  be 
with  my  battalion.  I  shall  have  to  change  out  of 
it  later  on  if  I  find  it's  only  going  to  be  a  Home 
Service  one." 

Even  with  all  his  energy  about  his  outfit,  his 
name  was  in  the  gazette  before  his  new  uniform 
was  ready.  Yet  it  was  not  long  before  a  Sunday 
morning  came  when  he  made  his  first  public 
appearance  in  the  neighbourhood  as  a  second 
lieutenant,  going  to  church  with  his  sister  to 
show  how  the  best  quality  cloth,  the  best  cut, 
the  best  shade  of  khaki,  the  best  Sam  Browne 
belt  and  all  the  other  accessories  could  increase 
the  attractiveness  of  a  boy  with  a  fine  figure  and 
with  that  "  dignity  of  the  watch-chain  "  sort  of 
fascination  about  him  which  I  have  tried  to  ex- 
plain already. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  the  people  who  say  that 
khaki  is  not  becoming,"  I  said  to  his  father  after 
he  had  gone.  "  It  must  be  becoming,  because, 
since  the  war  broke  out,  I've  had  a  stronger  and 
stronger  impression  every  day  that  England  is 
full  of  good-looking  men." 

"  I  must  see  what  Edward  Brennan  looks  like 
in  his  khaki,"  I  thought. 

But  Edward  was  still  waiting  for  his  commission 
and  so  was  in  his  ordinary  clothes.  But  the  thrill 
of  the  war  was  in  him  and  it  was  a  new  Edward 
who  was  with  us  now  and  sat  at  the  piano,  and 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  175 

with  his  long  fingers  brought  from  the  keys  music 
that  had  a  strange  new  meaning  in  it. 

"  Edward,  in  a  way  I  am  sorry  that  you  are 
going  soldiering,  too.  It  will  be  a  great  pity  if 
anything  happens  to  you — because,  if  you  live, 
you'll  be  a  great  musician  one  day,  when  you  wake 
up." 

"  When  I  wake  up  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You're  as  cold  as  marble  now.  You 
want  to  thaw.  But  you're  beginning  to  thaw 
already.  What  is  that  sad,  sweet  thing  you've 
been  playing  over  and  over  again  this  morning  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  It's  my  setting  of 
Roland's  poem,  *L'Envoi."' 

"  Roland's  poem  ?  I  didn't  know  he  wrote  any 
poems." 

"  No.  He's  afraid  to  show  them  to  you,  because 
he  says  they're  not  good  enough  yet.  But  I  liked 
this  one  so  much  that  I  couldn't  help  setting  it  to 
music." 

And  he  played  the  music  over  again,  singing  the 
words  as  he  did  so  : 

**  Only  a  turn  of  head, 
A  good-bye  lightly  said. 
And  you  set  out  to  tread 
Your  manlier  road. 

But  our  youth's  paths  once  met, 
And  think  not  we  forget 
How  great  a  brother's  debt 
To  you  is  owed. 


176  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

Sweep  onward  !  and  though  fame 
Shall  aureole  your  name, 
Remember  whence  you  came 
In  boyhood's  days. 

And  in  Life's  wider  years 
Look  back  on  hopes  and  fears, 
Sweetened  with  Memory's  tears. 
And  blame  and  praise." 

When  he  had  finished  I  had  a  lump  in  my 
throat  and  a  mist  before  my  eyes,  so  that  I  could 
hardly  see  him  as  he  sat  at  the  piano. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  thought  I  heard  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  come  in.  I  went  to  his  room,  but 
he  was  not  there.  There  was  a  sheet  from  an 
exercise  book  on  the  floor,  which  the  wind  that 
came  in  at  the  open  window  had  evidently 
blown  off  the  table.  I  picked  it  up  and  looked  at 
it,  and  saw  that  the  writing  on  it  was  a  poem 
which  the  Boy  had  copied  from  a  recent  number 
of  the  "  Westminster  Gazette." 

I  read  the  lines  through  carelessly  at  first ;  but 
when  I  came  to  the  third  or  fourth  line  I  knew  that 
if  he  was  to  get  out  to  the  Front  and  get  killed 
this  poem  would  haunt  me  always.  I  found  my- 
self murmuring  the  words  over  : 

"  I  shall  remember  miraculous  things  you  said 
My  whole  Ufe  through  ; 
Things  to  go  unforgotten  till  I  am  dead  ; 
But  the  hundredfold,  adorable  ways  of  you. 
The  tilt  of  your  chin  for  laughter,  the  turn  of  your  head. 

That  I  loved,  that  I  knew 

Oh,  while  I  fed  on  the  dreams  of  them,  these  have  fled  ! 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  177 

Words  which  no  time  caji  touch  axe  my  life's  refrain  ; 

But  each  picture  flies 

All  that  was  left  to  hold  till  I  meet  you  again  ! 

Your  mouth's  deep  curve,  your  brows  where  the  shadow 

lies. 
These  are  the  things  I  strive  to  capture  in  vain. 
And  I  have  forgotten  your  eyes " 

Another  blinding  mist  of  tears  blotted  out  the 
last  line,  even  as  just  now  in  the  drawing-room 
tears  had  blotted  out  the  figure  of  Little  Yeogh 
Wough's  friend  sitting  at  the  piano. 

That  night,  after  midnight,  as  I  sat  on  the  big 
sofa  with  the  Boy  and  his  friend,  I  said  sud- 
denly : 

"  I  didn't  know  you  wrote  poems,  Roland. 
Why  don't  you  let  me  see  some  of  them  ?  " 

"  They're  not  good  enough  to  show  you.  I 
suppose  Edward  has  been  telling  you  I've  written 
them.    He  oughtn't  to  have  told  you." 

They  were  sitting  one  on  either  side  of  me. 
Edward  laughed. 

"  Don't  mind  what  he  says.  I'll  send  them  to 
you  to  read,"  he  said  to  me. 

Then  a  demon  of  anger  leapt  up  in  the  eyes  of 
Little  Yeogh  Wough.  He  looked  dangerous  as  he 
flung  himself  across  me  and  defied  his  friend. 

"  No,  you  won't  send  them.  I  don't  mean 
mother  to  see  them.  They're  not  good  enough. 
They're  not  to  be  shown  her.    You  understand  ?  '* 

t'  Roland  !  "  I  exclaimed  reproachfully. 


178  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

When  his  friend  had  gone  to  bed  he  walked 
fiercely  up  and  down  the  room  in  which  he  was  now 
alone  with  me. 

"  You  can  see  what  I  feel,  Big  Yeogh  Wough. 
I  don't  want  you  to  see  work  that  I  think  is  bad. 
And  you  know  that  home  and  you  are  something 
quite  apart  from  everything  else  with  me.  My 
best  self  is  always  here,  but  I've  had  to  bring  out 
another  self  in  my  school  life,  or  I  couldn't  have 
got  on  in  that  life  at  all.  And  I  don't  want  you  to 
hear  about  that  other  self.  Any  boy  that  comes 
here  must  come  on  condition  that  he  doesn't  tell 

you." 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  this  particu- 
lar boy  who  is  here  now,  for  he  has  told  me  of 
all  sorts  of  goodnesses  in  you — of  your  kindness 
in  helping  other  fellows  less  clever  than  yourself — 
helping  them  even  to  compete  against  you — and  of 
your  great  sense  of  justice.  You  have  learnt  to 
rule,  and  I  am  glad,  for  now  you  will  have  to  put 
your  ability  to  the  test ;  and  I  am  very  proud  to 
know  that  last  Speech  Day  the  Head  thanked  you 
for  the  change  for  the  better  that  you  had  worked 
in  your  house  since  you  had  been  an  important 
boy  there." 

He  came  and  sat  down  on  the  big  couch  beside 
me  and  leaned  his  head  against  mine. 

"  Are  you  particularly  fond  of  Edward's  sister, 
Roland  ?  " 

*'  Of  Vera  Brennan  ?    No,  not  particularly  fond 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  179 

of  her.  I  like  her  tremendously.  You  would,  too, 
if  you  knew  her.  She's  not  like  other  girls.  She's 
brilliant  and  can  think  for  herself.  She  wants  to 
be  a  writer  some  day.  But  first  she's  going  to 
Oxford.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  this  war  we  should 
have  been  there  at  the  same  time." 

"  Going  to  Oxford  isn't  the  way  for  a  woman  to 
be  a  writer — except  of  treatises.  But  that's  beside 
the  point.  Are  you  getting  to  be  fond  of  her  ? 
Do  you  think  you  will  ever  be  as  fond  of  her  as 
you  are  of  me  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Big  Yeogh  Wough? 
I'm  only  a  boy  yet  and  am  not  likely  to  get  fond 
of  any  woman,  except  in  a  comradely  way.  You 
know  that  when  the  time  comes  for  me  to  love  a 
woman  and  think  of  marrying  her,  I  should  like  to 
find  one  like  you  if  I  could.  But  I'm  not  likely  to 
be  able  to  do  that.  Yet,  whether  the  woman  be 
Vera  or  anybody  else,  there  won't  be  any  question 
of  whether  I  love  you  or  her  the  better.  You  and 
I  have  lived  so  much  in  each  other's  life  that  we're 
like  one  person,  and  the  woman  I  love  will  have  to 
have  you  for  a  lover  as  well  as  me,  while  she'll 
have  to  love  you  if  she  wants  me." 

"  Does  Vera  Brennan  know  that  I  call  you 
Little  Yeogh  Wough  and  that  you  call  me  Big 
Yeogh  Wough  ?  " 

"  No.  She  knows  a  lot  about  me,  but  she 
doesn't  know  things  like  that." 

"  That's  right.    And  now  it's  time  you  went  to 


180  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

bed,  or  you  will  make  me  so  very  late  in  coming 
to  say  good  night  to  you." 

"  All  right."  He  got  up  at  once.  "  But  you're 
not  going  to  sit  up  working,  are  you  ?  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  in  this  East  Coast  house. 
What's  the  good  of  their  putting  out  the  lighthouse 
light  if  you  keep  the  light  in  your  turret  blazing 
away  ?  You  see,  we're  as  nearly  opposite  Ger- 
many as  we  can  be." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  be  good  and  go  to  bed  by  a 
candle  hidden  away  behind  a  curtain.  It  will  be 
all  the  better  for  your  father.  There  won't  be  any 
fear  of  the  light  waking  him  up.  He  says  he  would 
have  been  in  his  grave  long  ago  if  he  kept  the 
hours  I  keep.  That  may  be,  but  I  never  find  that 
the  people  who  go  to  bed  at  nine  and  get  up  at 
half-past  eight  are  any  the  healthier  for  it.  I 
rather  agree  with  that  old  financier  who  used  to 
see  a  good  deal  of  us  and  used  to  say  sometimes  in 
the  morning  :  '  I  feel  quite  out  of  sorts  to-day. 
I  always  do  whenever  I  go  to  bed  earlier  than 
usual.'  " 

I  went  to  his  room  half  an  hour  later  to  say  good 
night  to  him.  He  was  already  in  bed.  Before  I 
switched  off  his  light  I  saw  something  in  his  eyes 
which  made  me  say : 

"  Roland,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  Is  this 
the  last  time  I  shall  come  and  say  good  night  to 
you  before  you  go  out  to  the  Front — if  you  succeed 
in  getting  out  there  ?  " 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  181 

*'  Yes."  He  answered  me  in  a  very  tender  voice 
which  no  one  else  knew.  "  You  see,  if  you  come 
up  with  me  to  London  to-morrow  we  shall  be 
sleeping  in  different  places — you  at  the  hotel  and 
I  at  Uncle  Jack's — and  after  that  I  shall  be  going 
straight  to  my  rooms  at  Norwich.  And  even  if 
my  battalion  gets  accidentally  ordered  to  this  town, 
I  shall  have  to  sleep  at  headquarters.  This  place 
would  be  too  far  off.  And  I  don't  suppose  there'll 
be  much  leave  going,  because  the  battalion  is  so 
raw  and  wants  such  a  lot  of  training." 

"  What  a  splendid  thing  your  five  years'  O.T.C. 
training  has  been  for  you  !  " 

"  Yes.  The  O.T.C.  major  has  written  to  the 
commanding  officer  of  my  battalion  and  told  him 
what  he  thinks  of  me  as  a  trained  soldier  already, 
and  it  seems  to  have  been  a  pretty  good  opinion, 
so  I  don't  expect  I  shall  be  long  getting  out  to  the 
Front.  I  don't  mean  to  be  long.  I'll  move  heaven 
and  earth  to  get  out  there.  I  know  you  won't  try 
to  keep  me  back.  You  know,  you  said  to  me  once, 
not  very  long  ago,  that  every  man  has  two  mothers, 
his  flesh-and-blood  mother  and  his  country,  and 
he  owes  as  much  to  the  one  as  to  the  other.  That's 
what  makes  that  American  song :  '  I  didn't  raise 
my  son  to  be  a  soldier,'  all  wrong." 

I  had  knelt  down  by  his  bedside  again  and  was 
smoothing  the  mass  of  his  hair.  We  were  silent 
for  a  long  while  and  then  I  suddenly  found  myself 
saying  : 


182  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  I  wonder  if  a  mother's  love  is  really  all  gold,  as 
people  say  it  is,  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  or  whether 
there  isn't  a  good  deal  of  the  dross  of  pride  in  it ! 
Now,  I  would  take  off  my  skin  and  sit  in  my  bones 
to  keep  you  from  feeling  cold,  but,  after  all,  that's 
because  you  are  mine,  and  I  suppose  I  am  selfish 
enough  to  think,  though  it's  wrong  to  do  so,  that 
what  is  mine  is  more  precious  than  what  is  any- 
body else's.  Of  course,  if  much  of  this  pride 
comes  in,  it  takes  the  hohness  away  from  the 
love." 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  trouble  about  that, 
when  it's  a  question  of  you  and  me,"  he  re- 
turned. 

I  was  still  stroking  his  hair.  And  then  some- 
thing, though  I  could  not  have  told  what,  made 
me  whisper  to  him  : 

"  Say :  '  Our  Father,  Which  art  in  Heaven,* 
with  me.  Little  Yeogh  Wough." 

I  did  not  know  then  what  he  felt  lately  about 
these  things.  So  much  had  happened  that  might 
have  changed  him  since  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  ivory  crucifix  half  hidden  under  other  things 
in  his  drawer. 

But,  with  his  lips  close  to  my  face,  he  repeated 
the  prayer  with  me. 

I  had  left  him  about  half  an  hour  when  a  loud 
knocking  came  at  the  front  door.  Without  dis- 
turbing my  husband  I  slipped  some  clothes  on 


IN  THE   DANGER  ZONE  183 

and  went  downstairs,  but  could  find  no  trace  of 
either  Little  Yeogh  Wough  or  Edward. 

Presently  they  both  came  in,  in  dressing-gowns 
and  bedroom  slippers,  and  I  learned  that  they  had 
been  guiding  down  to  the  sea  some  coast  patrols, 
new-comers  to  the  locality,  who  had  lost  their  way. 

"  What  ?  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  been  all 
the  way  down  to  the  sea  on  this  bitterly  cold  and 
stormy  night  with  nothing  on  but  dressing-gowns 
over  your  pyjamas  and  bedroom  slippers  on  your 
bare  feet  ?  " 

They  laughed,  and  then  I  knew  that  nothing 
would  hold  either  of  them  back  from  the  Front 
five  minutes  longer  than  was  absolutely  inevit- 
able. 

But  the  next  day  was  a  different  kind  of  day  for 
Little  Yeogh  Wough.  For  he  spent  it  in  London 
— that  London  which  he  always  loved,  as  I  love  it, 
with  a  deep  and  undying  devotion  ;  and  he  found 
himself  in  the  company  of  men  whose  strength  was 
in  their  brains,  rather  than  in  their  bodies. 

He  began,  directly  I  left  him,  by  mischievously 
telegraphing  to  an  eminent  novelist,  who  was 
fond  of  him,  to  meet  him  at  a  given  spot  in  town. 
It  was  the  eminent  novelist's  busiest  day  of  the 
week,  on  which  he  never  left  home,  but  he  obeyed 
the  summons  of  the  telegram,  which  bore  the 
sender's  surname  only,  imagining,  perhaps,  that 
something  had  gone  very  wrong.    Anyhow,  he  was 


184  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

irate  when  he  discovered  that  nothing  more  im- 
portant had  required  him  than  Little  Yeogh  Wough, 
desirous  of  showing  off  his  uniform. 

He  gave  his  admiration,  none  the  less.  Another 
and  another,  whom  the  boy  of  my  heart  went  to 
see,  charmed  him  by  their  brilliance  in  return  for 
the  quicker  life  which  the  mere  sight  and  voice  of 
him  put  into  their  veins.  He  passed  the  afternoon 
at  the  Stores,  doing  as  much  in  helping  the  sale  of 
military  outfits  for  other  people  as  in  buying 
what  he  himself  needed.  And  he  passed  the 
evening  with  me  at  my  hotel,  with  friends  of  whom 
one,  Mr.  Clement  Shorter,  had  known  him  by  daily 
sight  and  greeting  since  the  bright  years  of  his 
earliest  boyhood. 

He  sat  and  drank  in  the  eager  talk  of  books. 
And  at  twelve  o'clock,  when  the  never  to  be  for- 
gotten little  party  had  broken  up  and  he  was  due 
at  his  uncle's  flat,  he  came  and  planted  himself  in 
front  of  me  and  said  : 

"Big  Yeogh  Wough,  when  this  war  is  over, 
I'm  not  going  in  for  the  Indian  Civil  Service. 
I'm  not  going  in  for  anything  that  will  take  me 
away  from  London  and  you  and  the  life  that  you 
live.  London  and  the  brain  force  of  London  have 
got  into  my  blood  to-day.  When  I  come  back  I'm 
going  to  stop  here  and  use  here  in  this  city  all  the 
powers  that  I've  got.    You  will  see." 

When  he  was  leaving  me  he  turned  back  and 
said  with  sudden  wistfulness  : 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  185 

"  I've  got  to  go  down  to-morrow,  but  you  could 
stop  in  London  till  Friday,  couldn't  you  ?  You 
see,  Edward's  going  to  bring  his  sister  up  to  town 
on  Friday  and  I  should  like  you  to  meet  her.  I 
dare  say  I  could  get  up  again  for  a  few  hours  and 
we  might  have  a  little  tea-party  somewhere — 
perhaps  at  the  Criterion." 

He  spoke  quite  lightly,  as  if  my  refusal  would 
not  matter  in  the  very  least.  But  I  looked  at  his 
sad,  deep  eyes  and  at  the  grace  of  his  figure  in  its 
new  khaki,  and  I  did  not  refuse. 

"  Very  well,"  I  agreed.  "  I  will  stay  over  until 
Friday.  I  am  really  quite  curious  to  see  this  Yera 
Brennan  who  is  so  utterly  unlike  all  other  girls." 

"  That's  good  of  you.  It's  settled,  then.  I'll 
manage  to  come  up." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  a  quarter-past  four 
on  the  next  Friday  afternoon  found  me  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  Criterion,  looking  at  the  moving 
throngs  of  men,  nearly  all  in  khaki,  and  of  women 
who  were  already  for  the  most  part  in  black. 
And  I  wondered  again,  as  I  have  wondered  all  my 
life,  why  these  so-called  bright  scenes  are  sadder 
far  than  any  funeral,  and  why  black  does  succeed 
in  looking  pathetic  on  the  young,  whereas  it  only 
looks  dismal  on  the  old. 

It  is  only  a  mild  sympathy  that  stirs  in  one  when 
one  sees  a  very  old  woman  in  widow's  crape.  One 
feels  that  the  fitness  of  things  is  not  outraged. 
But  when  one  sees  a  young  widow — oh,  then,  one 


186  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

knows  that  there  is  a  story  of  romance  and  horror 
and  anguish  lurking  behind  the  black,  and  first  a 
pang  of  pity  goes  through  one's  heart,  and  then  a 
flood  of  tenderness  rises  in  one's  soul  for  the  girl 
who  could  only  just  have  gained  her  womanhood's 
best  joys  when  she  lost  them. 

Little  Yeogh  Wough,  who  had  been  shopping  for 
himself,  was  by  this  time  crossing  the  floor  towards 
me,  his  face  aglow,  his  step  strong,  his  whole  air 
vital  and  electric.  At  the  same  moment  little 
Miss  Torry,  whom  I  had  notified  of  our  intention 
to  be  here,  appeared  like  a  small  whirlwind  and 
grasped  first  my  hand  and  then  the  Boy's,  as  if 
she  meant  to  wrench  them  from  our  wrists  and 
carry  them  away  with  her  as  trophies. 

"Oh,  you  dear  boy !  Let  me  look  at  you. 
What  a  size  you  are  !  And  how  the  khaki  does 
suit  you  !  And  what  a  lovely  shade  of  khaki  it  is 
— a  greeny  shade  !  Some  people  do  have  such 
horrid,  mustardy  things.  Oh,  dear  me  !  I  wish 
there  weren't  so  many  people  here,  so  that  I  could 
get  a  better  look  at  you.  I  shall  hug  you  in  a 
minute  before  everybody — and  then,  what  will 
people  say  ?  And  your  moustache,  too  !  Why, 
it's  quite  golden  !  and  I  always  did  expect  it  to 
come  out  black  and  make  you  look  like  a  con- 
spirator." 

She  was  so  very  tiny  and  the  boy  was,  in  com- 
parison, so  very  big  that  it  was  amusing  to  see 
them  together.    But  there  was  a  great  softness  in 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  187 

his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her,  for  he  had  had  Miss 
Torry  guiding  him  in  the  way  he  should  go  for 
nearly  thirteen  years  of  his  life,  and  every  scolding 
she'd  given  him,  and  every  extra  extravagance  she 
had  denied  him  when  he  had  been  at  school  had 
endeared  her  to  him  unutterably. 

And  then  there  entered  the  girl  whom  I  had  come 
to  meet — the  girl  to  whom  he  had  sent  letters  that 
had  taken  hours  to  write,  and  a  parcel  containing 
one  book  which  had  required  a  whole  morning  for 
its  making-up  and  addressing. 

I  saw  someone  very  small,  very  slight,  very 
delicate-faced  and  yet  very  resolute,  with  amethyst- 
like eyes  that  looked  straight  into  my  eyes,  asking 
me  mute  questions  concerning  the  soul  of  the  boy 
who  had  been  mine  only  till  now,  but  was  not  likely 
to  be  mine  only  for  ever. 

She  was  accompanied  by  an  aunt,  and  the  little 
tea-party  went  off  very  successfully,  with  Little 
Yeogh  Wough  glowing  with  pride  and  happiness, 
and  his  sister,  who  had  come  with  me,  taking  things 
all  in,  as  she  always  did.  Not  one  of  us  breathed 
a  word  as  to  what  we  had  really  come  there  for — 
namely,  to  examine  each  other  and  see  how  we 
liked  each  other  ;  but  the  verdict  was  an  all-round 
satisfactory  one,  and  in  the  end  we  all  got  into  a 
taxicab  together  and  Miss  Vera  Brennan  sat  on 
my  knee. 

"  How  tiny  you  are  !  "  I  said  playfully. 

"  Yes.    I  was  saying  to  Roland  once  how  sorry 


188  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

I  am  that  I'm  so  small,  and  he  said  he  liked  small 
women.'* 

She  was  going  to  buy  a  hat,  and  I  set  her  and 
her  aunt  down  at  the  hat  shop.  Little  Yeogh 
Wough  went  with  them  to  help  her  in  making  her 
choice — or,  rather,  to  show  her  how  well  he  could 
choose  a  hat  for  her  even  this  first  time. 

I  did  not  watch  him  go  into  the  shop,  because  at 
that  moment  there  came  along  a  marching  phalanx 
of  new  recruits,  most  of  whom  had  not  yet  got 
their  uniforms  ;  men  of  London,  who  had  given 
themselves  up  to  strive  and  suffer  for  their  country 
and  who  came  along  without  panoply  or  music, 
and  with  no  need  of  either  because  of  the  music 
that  was  in  their  hearts,  and  that  made  their  eyes 
glow  and  their  steps  ring  firm  and  true. 

If  I  had  been  a  man  I  should  have  bared  my 
head  to  them  as  they  passed.  I  honoured  them, 
I  reverenced  them,  I  loved  them,  with  an  honour 
and  a  reverence  and  a  love  that  half  choked  me. 

That  evening,  when  Little  Yeogh  Wough  came 
back  to  me  at  the  hotel,  he  asked  me  in  a  quite 
careless  tone  how  I  liked  Miss  Brennan. 

"Oh,  I  like  her  very  much  !  "  I  answered  him. 
"  She  is  good-looking  and  sincere — and  good  looks 
and  sincerity  go  a  very  long  way.  I  hope  you  let 
her  know  that  it  was  I  who  had  trained  you  to  be 
a  good  judge  of  hats  and  of  most  other  articles 
of  the  feminine  wardrobe  ?  " 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  189 

"  Oh,  of  course  I've  told  her  all  about  that !  "  he 
said  with  a  laugh. 

He  had  worn  khaki  five  months  and  a  half,  and 
had  worked  hard,  and  become  a  full  lieutenant 
and  been  entrusted  at  nineteen  with  difficult  Home 
Service  jobs  that  would  not  have  been  given  to 
many  a  man  of  thirty,  when  one  day  he  came  to 
us  in  the  East  Coast  house  with  such  a  glow  on  his 
face  as  I  had  never  seen  there  before. 

"  I  believe  I  am  going  to  get  out  to  the  Front 
at  last,"  he  announced.  "  Lady  Geraldine  Desmer 
and  Captain  Jarvice  both  know  influential  people 
at  the  War  Office,  and  it  will  be  very  surprising 
if  between  them  I  don't  get  what  I  want.  Captain 
Jarvice  is  going  to  take  me  up  to  the  War  Office 
with  him  to-morrow.  He  says  he  isn't  going  to 
wait  about  here  in  England  much  longer,  and  at 
the  same  time  he's  promised  me  that  he  won't  go 
unless  I  go  with  him.  And  he  really  does  seem  to 
have  influence,  so  I  believe  I'm  all  right  now. 
Besides,  Gretton's  got  out  there,  so  I'm  bound  to 
go.    There's  a  fate  in  it." 

So,  two  days  later,  the  brave  young  feet  ran  up 
the  steps  of  the  house  eagerly  again,  and  the  fine 
young  figure  met  me  in  the  hall  with  a  leaner 
figure  beside  it. 

He  waited  for  Captain  Jarvice  to  tell  me  what 
there  was  to  tell.  And  that  charming  cavalry 
officer  did  tell  me,  while  he  held  out  both  his 


190  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

hands  to  me,  looking  at  me  with  eyes  that  had  a 
mist  of  moisture  in  them. 

"  IVe  got  them  to  take  him.  We're  both  going 
out  with  the  7th  Melchesters  in  five  days'  time. 
I've  been  wondering  whether  you'll  bless  me  for 
this  or  curse  me." 

"  Roland,  go  and  tell  your  father." 

When  they  had  gone,  an  hour  later,  his  father 
and  I  and  his  sister  sat  and  looked  at  each  other 
and  were  very  silent. 

The  next  day  the  Boy  came  again,  this  time 
bringing  his  luggage — all  the  extra  things  which  he 
had  had  in  his  Norwich  rooms  and  could  not  take 
to  the  Front.  There  were  things  to  be  locked  in 
his  trunks  and  things  to  be  packed  on  his  wardrobe 
shelves,  and  certain  especially  precious  treasures 
which  he  poured  in  a  heap  into  his  private  drawer 
in  that  same  capacious  piece  of  furniture. 

"  I've  lost  the  key  of  this  drawer,  so  I  can't  lock 
it  separately  from  the  whole  wardrobe,  but  you'll 
see  that  nobody  goes  to  it,  won't  you,  Big  Yeogh 
Wough  ?  "  he  said  wistfully  as  he  pressed  down  a 
few  unimportant  articles  of  clothing  on  the  top  of 
the  little  piles  of  letters  and  notebooks  which  he 
had  just  heaped  up. 

"  Yes,"  I  promised  him.  "  I  shall  not  go  to  it 
and  your  father  will  not,  and  Clare  will  not.  And 
there's  no  one  else." 

I  was  tenderly  wrapping  up  his  sword  in  folds 
of  silk  as  I  spoke  ;   his  sword,  that  had  been  used 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  191 

for  show  and  was  not  wanted  for  the  hard  and 
bitter  work  of  fighting  in  earnest. 

He  went  on  talking  as  he  went  on  packing  in 
things  on  the  top  of  the  letters  : 

"  I've  told  Vera  Brennan  that  you  won't  mind 
her  writing  to  you  sometimes.  You  won't,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  No.    Of  course  I  shan't  mind.    I  shall  be  glad." 

I  felt  suddenly  grateful  to  fate  for  the  other 
woman  who  loved  him,  too. 

He  finished  his  packing  and  we  went  into  the 
dining-room  for  tea. 

"  I  shan't  be  able  to  stay  all  through  tea.  I've 
got  to  leave  in  ten  minutes,  to  catch  the  train  back 
to  Norwich  and  clear  out  of  my  rooms  there,  so  as 
to  go  to  the  Melchesters  at  Maldon.  I  shall  feel 
a  stranger  among  them,  and  no  mistake.  But  I 
like  the  colonel,  and  that's  something." 

He  spoke  quite  bravely  and  with  an  attempt  at 
his  usual  gaiety,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  there 
was  something  not  quite  right  about  him.  Eagerly 
though  he  had  striven  to  go,  he  yet  was  not  going 
without  a  pang. 

But  it  was  not  the  coward's  pang — Heaven  be 
thanked  !     There  was  nothing  of  fear  in  it. 

Downstairs  in  the  kitchen  department  of  the 
house  there  was  a  great  and  unwonted  silence  that 
made  itself  felt  even  in  our  rooms.  The  servants 
knew  and  were  sorry.  One  of  them  had  known  him 
for  eight  years,  another  for  four  and  yet  another 


192  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

for  two  ;  and  their  unnatural  silence  and  stillness 
had^a  meaning  which  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart. 

Then,  the  ten  minutes  being  over,  he  got  up  and 
kissed  us  good-bye  all  round.  A  curious  look  came 
on  his  face  as  he  saw  the  tears  in  his  father's  eyes 
brim  over.  He  went  out  very  suddenly,  walking 
a  little  blindly. 

He  would  have  no  one  go  to  the  station  with  him. 
For  one  thing,  he  was  not  going  there  immediately, 
and,  secondly,  he  always  hated  being  seen  off  by 
anyone  that  he  loved. 

And  six  days  later,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, a  telegram  came  to  us,  sent  by  him  from 
Folkestone  : 

*'  Am  crossing  to-night." 

As  I  have  said  before,  I  buried  my  face  in  the 
pillow  and  sobbed  and  sobbed  and  sobbed. 

For  it  is  in  the  beginning  that  the  great  Fear 
comes  and  grips  and  chills. 

I  was  glad  Old  Nurse  was  dead,  and  also  Tita, 
the  black  Skye  terrier.  The  dog  had  loved  him  so ! 
She  had  always  been  haggard  and  wretched  when 
she  had  seen  his  luggage  packed  for  going  back  to 
school  at  the  beginning  of  each  term,  and  now  she 
would  surely  have  known  somehow  that  he  had 
gone  to  the  war. 

"Oh,  Little  Yeogh  Wough  !  "  I  cried  out  in  my 
heart.  "  I  have  guarded  you  so  much  always — so 
much ! — and  now  I  can't  guard  you  any  more. 
Now  already  your  glad  young  feet  are  marching 


IN  THE  DANGER  ZONE  193 

over  French  ground,  carrying  you  on — on — 
perhaps  to  your  death." 

And  then  began  for  us  all  a  different  life  ;  a  life 
of  heart  hunger.  We  hungered  to  hear  the  Boy's 
laugh,  to  hear  the  peculiar  call  he  gave  when  he 
wanted  his  younger  brother  to  help  him  with  his 
dressing,  or  his  half-mischievous,  half-playfuUy 
tender  inquiry  of  his  father  as  to  whether  he  could 
have  the  first  supply  of  the  hot  bath  water.  We 
wandered  about  like  lost  souls  until  his  first  letter 
came.  And  one  vivid  sentence  in  it  showed  us  that 
he  had  reached  the  danger  zone  : 

"  It  has  given  me  a  thrill  to-night  to  see  the 
German  flares  go  up  like  a  truncated  dawn.** 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT 

"  There's  a  sob  on  the  sea. 
And  the  Old  Year  is  dying  : 
Borne  on  night- wings  to  me 
There's  a  sob  on  the  sea. 
And  for  what  could  not  be 
The  deep  world's  heart  is  sighing. 
There's  a  sob  on  the  sea. 
And  the  Old  Year  is  dying." 

Little  Yeogh  Wough. 

^OMETIMES  in  the  midst  of  my  aching,  tearing 
'^  anxiety  I  found  myself  laughing  out  suddenly 
at  the  remembrance  of  some  of  the  Boy's  delightful 
extravagances  ;  at  how,  for  instance,  one  night 
when  his  battalion  was  stationed  about  three  and 
a  half  miles  away  from  us,  he  had  driven  up  all 
that  distance  and  back  in  a  taxicab  at  midnight 
in  order  to  get  eighteenpence  in  ready  money  for 
a  tip  for  the  cab  driver.  He  had  been  a  short 
journey  in  the  cab  already,  but  the  cost  of  that  was 
going  to  be  put  down  on  an  account.  He  wanted, 
however,  to  give  a  good  tip,  and,  having  no  small 
change,  he  took  the  cab  another  seven  miles  to 
do  it. 

194 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         195 

Then  there  had  been  an  occasion  when,  needing 
a  piece  of  stout  wire,  he  had  secretly  but  relent- 
lessly removed  it  from  the  inside  of  the  handsome 
and  nearly  new  piano,  substituting  a  stout  bootlace 
to  act  in  its  place.  For  one  who  had  always  been 
responsible  far  beyond  his  years — more  responsible 
than  most  elderly  men — he  had  astonishing  little 
fits  of  gay  irresponsibility  in  which  he  fell  foul  of 
the  authority  of  everybody  except  his  Big  Yeogh 
Wough. 

Perhaps  it  was  these  very  gleams  of  wildness 
that  won  for  him  the  devotion  of  the  servants  in 
the  house. 

Once  a  week  everything  else  in  the  household 
routine  had  to  give  way  to  the  making  of  his 
cake.  The  cook  kneaded  her  heart's  love  into  it 
in  spite  of  his  having  robbed  her  of  her  young 
man  for  the  benefit  of  the  Army,  and  the  others 
looked  on  at  the  making  with  sorrow  and  fear  in 
their  honest  eyes.  They  might  not  agree  with 
each  other  on  all  points  at  all  times,  but  they 
always  agreed  about  him  ;  and  so  the  family  cake 
and  the  kitchen  cake  became  poor  and  anaemic  in 
order  that  the  cake  destined  for  the  Front  might 
be  rich  enough  to  put  any  young  officer  into  a  state 
of  bilious  inefficiency. 

Our  anxiety  to  obey  official  instructions  as  to 
describing  the  contents  of  parcels  led  him  to  write 
a  protest  to  his  sister  as  Chief  Commissariat 
Officer  : 


196  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  My  dear  Bystander, 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  apologise  all  over  the 
outside  of  my  parcels  for  what  is  inside  them.  Why 
put '  Only  six  buns  and  two  dried  haddocks '  ?  Or : 
'  Merely  a  little  dill  water '  ?  Can't  you  put '  Pro- 
visions '  only  ?  Won't  that  satisfy  the  regulations  ? ' ' 

The  sending  out  of  his  silver  identity  disc  and 
chain  was  an  agonising  experience.  On  the  face 
of  it  there  is  nothing  very  tragic  about  a  jflat  bit  of 
silver  with  a  man's  name  and  regiment  engraved 
on  it.  But  what  it  stands  for !  Oh,  heaven,  what 
it  stands  for ! 

I  knew  what  it  stood  for  as  I  looked  at  it.  It 
stood  first  and  foremost  for  the  fact  that  the  boy 
who  in  himself  was  all  earth  and  all  heaven  to  me 
was  in  the  army  only  one  among  many  thousands 
— ^perhaps  among  many  hundreds  of  thousands. 
It  stood  for  a  fearful  confusion  in  which  masses  of 
men  might  get  inextricably  mixed  up  so  that  none 
could  know  who  his  fellow  was ;  and  it  stood  for 
a  field  on  which  there  were  many  dead  lying,  and 
for  grim  figures  walking  about  among  those  dead 
and  depending  for  their  identifications  on  some 
token  worn  by  the  still  shapes  whose  lips  would 
speak  no  more. 

All  this  passed  through  my  mind  while  I  packed 
up  the  little  disc  and  chain.  I  had  had  to  order 
a  very  long  chain  so  that  it  might  slip  easily  over 
the  Boy's  big  lion-cub  head. 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         197 

"  After  all,  I'm  making  too  much  of  it,"  I  told  my- 
self. "What  is  the  identity  disc  but  a  mere  con- 
venience ?  Haven't  I  hung  one  of  my  own  cards  on 
to  a  button  of  my  dress  sometimes  in  Paris,  when 
I  was  going  to  drive  about  alone  in  their  dangerous 
cabs  ?  " 

And  I  laughed  and  went  to  look  for  something 
vulgar  to  put  on  the  gramophone  to  cheer  myself 
up. 

Since  he  had  gone  away  we  had  had  no  music. 
We  had  all  been  too  restless  to  play  the  piano  and 
any  of  the  ordinary  gramophone  records  would 
have  brought  us  memories  of  him  too  keen  for  us 
to  bear.  But  now  suddenly  I  remembered  a  dozen 
records  hidden  away  under  a  sofa  because  I  had 
judged  them  on  a  first  trial  to  be  uninteresting. 
The  Boy  had  known  nothing  of  them,  so  they  would 
not  torture  me  with  thoughts  of  him. 

With  some  diiSiculty  I  pulled  out  the  uppermost 
one  of  the  dozen,  dusted  it  and  put  it  on  the 
gramophone. 

It  was  Henschel's  "  Morning  Hymn,"  sung  by 
Gervase  Elwes. 

Hurriedly  trying  the  thing  in  a  gay  mood  many 
months  ago,  I  had  thought  it  conmionplace  and 
dull.  I  had  never  taken  the  trouble  even  to  hear 
it  a  second  time.  The  name  of  the  singer  had 
meant  nothing  to  me,  because  I  am  too  deeply  a  lover 
of  music  ever  willingly  to  go  to  a  concert.  I  had 
heard  him  once  or  twice  in  love  songs  on  the  gramo- 


198  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

phone  and  had  been  struck  in  some  odd  way  by 
the  fact  that  in  those  love  songs  it  was  a  gentleman 
who  was  pleading  and  adoring.  There  is  such  a 
difference  between  a  bounder's  love  song  and  a 
gentleman's,  even  though  the  bounder  may  have 
the  best  voice  that  ever  came  from  a  masculine 
throat. 

For,  just  as  a  man  has  to  be  better  turned  out  in 
personal  appearance  than  a  woman  in  order  to 
look  all  right,  so  he  has  to  be  better  dressed  and 
finished  off  inside  in  order  not  to  do  things  in  a 
shoddy  way.  For  the  bounderishness  of  a  bounder 
betrays  itself  in  every  little  thing  he  does — in  the 
way  he  smiles,  the  way  he  comes  into  a  room,  the 
way  he  takes  his  overcoat  off  and  puts  it  on,  the 
way  he  touches  a  piano,  the  very  way  he  breathes 
and  speaks. 

So,  now,  remembering  that  I  had  heard  Gervase 
Elwes  sing  a  love  song  as  if  the  man  really  cared 
and  not  as  if  he  were  a  florid  windbag  who  would 
throw  the  woman  off  at  the  first  convenient  oppor- 
tunity, I  sat  down  patiently  to  listen  to  the 
"  Morning  Hymn." 

But  after  the  first  few  moments  I  started  up, 
amazed  and  thrilled. 

It  was  not  the  singer  that  mattered.  It  was  the 
music. 

I  did  not  know  what  the  words  were.  I  do  not 
know  now  what  they  are.  But  the  music  was  the 
music  of  this  war. 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         199 

The  room  in  which  I  stood  faded  from  before 
my  eyes  and  in  its  place  I  saw  a  battlefield  in  the 
grey  dawnjlight,  with  the  dead  lying  in  hundreds 
upon  it,  most  of  them  with  their  clear-featured, 
boyish  faces  upturned  to  that  pitiless  daybreak. 
And  among  those  upturned  faces  was  the  face  of 
Little  Yeogh  Wough — ^very  white,  very  set,  very 
calm.  And  over  in  the  east,  where  the  sun  would 
rise,  there  was  a  radiance  that  was  not  yet  of  the 
sun  and  yet  was  warmer  than  the  chill  grim  grey- 
ness  of  the  dawn.  It  was  a  light  shed  by  the 
presence  of  a  great  Archangel,  whose  arms,  out- 
spread, as  it  were,  upon  the  clouds,  enfolded  and 
blessed  the  dead  as  they  lay  beneath,  while  his  face, 
uplifted  to  a  higher  heaven,  besought  the  pity  of 
the  great  God  of  the  Universe  for  the  agonies  of 
the  nations  passing  through  the  awful  purgative 
ordeal  of  War. 

And  over  all  there  brooded  such  an  adoration 
as  forced  one  to  one's  knees  with  one's  forehead 
bowed  to  the  ground.  And  I  knew  as  I  looked — 
I  knew  even  in  my  own  agony — that  the  things 
which  those  boys  had  suffered  and  the  other  things 
which  they  had  given  up  had  not  been  suffered 
and  given  up  in  vain. 

Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  trying  to  put  the  thought 
of  him  out  of  my  mind  ? 

It  is  impossible.  Everything  I  do — everything 
I  touch  or  look  at — reminds  me  of  him. 

I  took  up  a  casual  book  of  poems  and  the  first 


200  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

lines  that  I  saw  brought  fresh  tears  to  my  heart, 
if  not  to  my  eyes  : 

"  Four  ducks  on  a  pond, 
A  grass-bank  beyond, 
A  blue  sky  of  spring. 
White  clouds  on  the  wing  : 
What  a  little  thing 
To  remember  for  years  .  .  . 
To  remember  with  tears  !  " 

"  It's  no  use,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  The  fear 
meets  me  everywhere.  It's  no  good  my  trying  to 
shirk  it.    I'll  go  in  and  see  Mrs.  Orme." 

Mrs.  Orme  was  an  unhappy  mother  of  an  only 
son,  who  had  heard  on  the  night  of  last  Christmas 
Day  the  news  that  her  treasure  had  been  taken 
from  her.  She  had  been  expecting  him  home,  just 
as  we  are  expecting  Little  Yeogh  Wough  now,  and 
had  kept  the  Christmas  dinner  waiting  until  ten 
o'clock.  Then  they  had  gone  on  with  the  feast — a 
veritable  feast,  prepared  for  the  hero  who  was 
expected — and,  simply  by  way  of  a  pretty  thought, 
had  lifted  their  champagne  glasses  and  drunk  to 
the  soldiers  who  had  fallen  in  the  war. 

Little  had  they  thought  that  they  were  drinking 
to  their  own  idol ! 

I  had  not  been  to  the  house  in  all  the  months 
that  had  passed  since.  I  had  contented  myself 
with  writing  a  letter  of  sympathy,  not  having  the 
courage  to  go  and  offer  to  that  poor  father  and 
mother  comfort  that  could  be  no  comfort.     But 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT        201 

now  I  went  and  heard  the  whole  pitiful  story  and 
was  shown  the  still  more  pitiful  clothes  with  the 
bullet  holes  in  them,  and  the  identity  disc  and  the 
wrist  watch  and  the  cigarette  case  and  the  peri- 
scope and  all  the  other  things  that  the  War  Office 
kindly  sends  back  to  the  homes  of  fallen  officers. 

I  got  away  as  soon  as  I  could,  promising  to 
come  again  soon  and  bring  the  lonely-hearted 
mother  a  photograph  of  my  Little  Yeogh  Wough. 
I  went  round  with  the  photograph  five  days  later 
and  told  the  servant  that  she  need  not  announce  me 
to  Mrs.  Orme,  as  I  would  go  up  and  find  her  by 
myself  if,  as  they  said,  she  was  alone  in  her  own 
sitting-room. 

I  went  very  softly  along  the  corridor.  The  door 
of  the  sitting-room  looked  shut,  but  yielded  to  a 
touch  and  slipped  open.  I  heard  a  sound  of  low 
sobbing,  and  looked  in. 

Mrs.  Orme  was  sitting  by  a  table  with  her  arms 
flung  out  across  it  and  her  head  bowed  upon  them, 
with  her  face  hidden.  In  between  the  sobs  half- 
smothered  words  were  breaking  from  her  and  I 
caught  them  : 

"  Oh,  Harry,  I'm  so  poor  without  you  !  I'm  so 
poor  without  you  !  What's  the  good  of  anything, 
now  that  you're  gone  ?  Oh,  Harry,  come  back  to 
me  !    Come  back  to  me  !  " 

I  went  back  along  the  corridor  and  down  the 
stairs  and  home. 

I  would  send  the  photograph  by  post  or  by  a 


202  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

messenger.  Not  for  the  whole  world  would  I  have 
let  her  know  that  I  had  seen  her  in  an  hour  like 
this. 

But  people  take  their  grief  differently.  One 
young  widow  that  I  knew  attacked  hers  with  a 
fountain  pen  and  got  the  better  of  it  valiantly  by 
writing  screed  after  screed,  not  only  to  her  relatives 
and  friends,  but  even  to  her  remotest  acquaintances. 

I  don't  myself  think  that  any  letter  with  deep 
feeling  in  it  should  ever  be  written  with  a  fountain 
pen.  Love  letters  should  certainly  never  be  written 
with  one.  Fountain  pens  and  passion  are  mutually 
contradictory. 

At  just  about  this  time  there  came  a  bright 
gleam  in  the  darkness  of  our  suspense.  Captain 
Jarvice,  who  had  been  sent  home  with  a  slight 
shoulder  wound  three  or  four  weeks  before, 
appeared  suddenly  in  our  midst. 

"  You'll  have  the  Boy  home  soon  on  his  first 
leave,"  he  told  us.  "  He's  getting  on  finely  out 
there.  He's  a  born  soldier,  that  boy  is,  as  I've 
always  said.  I'm  not  the  only  person  that  says 
so,  either.  The  colonel  says  so,  too.  He's  got 
great  brains  and  great  courage  both  together,  and 
his  men  know  it  and  will  follow  him  anywhere. 
You  can  trust  the  men  to  know  what  an  officer  is 
worth." 

"  I  hope  he  will  never  get  the  V.C,"  I  said  with 
a  shiver. 

"  What  ?  "    The  dear  captain  stared  at  me. 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         203 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean  !  Nobody  honours 
the  Victoria  Cross  more  than  I  do,  but  it  is  the 
miUtary  form  of  Extreme  Unction.  I  want  him 
to  do  things  that  deserve  it,  but  not  to  get  it. 
Only  about  one  man  out  of  every  hundred  who  get 
it  ever  Uves  on  safely  afterwards.  If  he  doesn't 
die  in  the  actual  winning  of  it,  then  the  Law  of 
Compensation  strikes  him  a  little  later,  as  in  the 
case  of  Warneford.  No  1  Dearly  though  I  love 
bravery,  I  myself  am  not  brave  enough  to  want 
my  Boy  to  win  the  Victoria  Cross." 

"  Well,  even  if  he  doesn't  happen  to  win  it 
himself,  he's  pretty  sure  to  be  the  cause  of  some 
other  fellow's  winning  it.  I  tell  you,  he's  the  best 
soldier  in  the  whole  battalion,  and  if  he  were  to 
be  killed  to-morrow  without  having  had  the  chance 
to  show  all  the  grit  that's  in  him — the  chance  to 
hold  his  trench  single-handed^  against  a  horde  of 
Germans — he'd  still  have  done  so  much  by  his 
wonderful  influence  to  stiffen  up  his  men  that 
they'd  stand  like  lions,  months  after  he  was  in  his 
grave,  just  because  of  the  memory  of  him.  That's 
the  stuff  he's  made  of.  As  soon  as  he  gets  into 
the  trench,  with  his  gay  laugh  and  the  Life,  sheer 
Life,  breaking  out  of  every  pore  of  him,  all  the 
discomforts  and  difficulties  seem  to  vanish." 

"  Hasn't  he  sometimes  given  way  himself  ?  " 
I  asked.  "  Hasn't  he  sometimes  been  very  tired 
and  almost  broken  up  ?  " 

"Oh,   yes — sometimes  !     But  he  never  minds 


204  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

being  tired  himself.  It  was  having  to  urge  the 
tired  men  on  that  hurt  him,  and  having  to  make 
them  work  in  the  trenches  when  they  ought  to 
have  rested.  He  would  like  to  do  half  their  work 
for  them,  if  he  could  ;  but  as  he  can't,  he  does  the 
next  best  thing — he  puts  heart  into  them  to  do  it. 
Oh,  he  loves  his  men  as  much  as  they  love  him !  " 

"  He's  Mess  President,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  he  was  !  And  such  a  cook  1 
He  says  he's  always  been  fond  of  cooking,  though 
he's  never  had  much  chance  to  do  it.  The  day 
before  I  got  hit  he  made  some  lovely  caper  sauce 
with  half  a  bottle  of  capers  and  my  tooth-powder. 
He's  a  regular  schoolboy  still ;  even  a  troublesome 
one  sometimes." 

I  laughed. 

"  I  expect  you  find  that  he  wants  to  put  things 
to  all  sorts  of  uses  they  were  never  meant  for, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  just  think  he  does.  If  a  new  trench 
mortar  comes  along,  you'd  think  it  would  be  just 
a  new  trench  mortar  and  there  would  be  an  end 
of  it ;  but  that's  not  so  with  him.  He  wants  to 
take  it  to  bits  and  see  if  it  can't  be  used  for  some- 
thing quite  different.  But  his  ideas  are  sometimes 
quite  good.  Two  or  three  months  ago,  after  we'd 
had  a  particularly  dirty  time,  he  went  and  got 
some  factory  vats  and  arranged  them  as  baths, 
and  it  just  happened  that  the  Prime  Minister  came 
along  unexpectedly  when  he  and  two  other  sub- 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         205 

alterns  were  in  the  vats  with  nothing  whatever  on 
but  their  identity  discs." 

I  laughed  again.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  hear  him 
call  out  here  in  this  house  now,  as  he  had  done  so 
often  before  : 

"  Father,  can  I  have  a  hot  bath  ?  " 

"  You've  no  idea  what  a  comfort  a  good  wash  is 
when  you're  thoroughly  tired  out  and  caked  with 
filthy  mud  from  head  to  foot,"  Captain  Jarvice 
went  on. 

Yes,  I  had  an  idea.  I  was  thinking  how  tenderly 
I  would  bathe  the  tired  feet  of  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
if  I  were  near  him  now  after  his  long  marches  ; 
those  feet  that  I  had  kissed  so  often  when  they  were 
the  feet  of  a  small  child. 

And  again  I  feel  so  glad  that  he  had  such  a  happy 
childhood.  My  own  people  used  to  say  that  it  was 
a  waste  to  buy  the  children  the  extravagantly 
costly  toys  they  had.  But  I'm  glad  now — very 
glad. 

"  He'll  be  adjutant  presently,  you'll  see,"  said 
Captain  Jarvice,  keeping  on  his  own  line. 

I  laid  my  hand  very  softly  against  his  wounded 
shoulder. 

"  Captain  Jarvice,  can't  you  see  that  in  spite  of 
all  its  horror  this  war  has  done  some  good  ?  It 
has  made  men  and  women  of  us  all.  You  don't 
hear  people  complaining  of  pin-pricks  now,  as  they 
used  to  do.  And  it  has  given  us  all  hearts,  instead 
of  only  a  gizzard  in  the  heart's  place." 


206  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

A  week  or  two  later  Little  Yeogh  Wough  himself 
came  home  on  that  first  leave  to  which  his  father 
and  his  sister  and  his  naval  cadet  brother  and 
I  had  been  looking  forward  with  such  panting 
eagerness. 

*'  Why,  you  look  like  a  German,  Roland !  " 
was  the  frank  greeting  of  that  younger  brother, 
standing  up  in  the  hall  to  welcome  him  with  all  the 
self-confidence  of  one  who  wore  the  dark  blue  of 
the  premier  Service. 

"  I  do,  do  I  ?  That's  because  I've  got  my  hair 
cropped,  I  suppose.  And  I  expect  you  think  a  lot 
of  yourself  because  you've  got  into  the  Navy.  But 
anyhow,  here  I  am,  and  I'm  not  a  German,  what- 
ever I  may  look  like." 

With  his  arm  round  me  and  mine  round  him, 
he  moved  across  the  hall,  giving  his  gay  little 
greetings  that  had  a  catch  in  the  throat  behind 
them.  There  was  an  answering  catch  in  his  father's 
throat,  and  a  little  tremble  in  all  our  voices.  Then 
we  noticed  at  last  how  deadly  tired  out  he  looked. 
He  laughed  when  we  told  him  of  it. 

"  I've  been  on  my  feet  for  forty-eight  hours — 
and  in  any  case  I  never  manage  to  get  more  than 
four  hours'  sleep  a  night,  even  in  billets.  But  a 
good  sleep  here  to-night  will  soon  put  me  right. 
I  think  I'll  have  a  hot  bath  now  and  go  to  bed 
directly  after  dinner.  You'll  come  and  see  me  in 
bed,  mother  ?  " 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         207 

We  had  dinner  early,  for  his  sake,  and  it  was 
hardly  more  than  half-past  nine  when  he  called  me 
and  told  me  he  was  ready  for  me  to  come  in. 

He  was  not  in  bed  yet,  however,  but  only  sitting 
down,  half  undressed,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  dis- 
turbed treasures  of  his  room.  The  doors  and 
drawers  of  his  wardrobe  stood  open,  as  did  also  the 
drawers  under  his  toilet  glass,  and  one  or  two 
trunks  which  he  had  pulled  out  from  beneath  the 
bed. 

"It's  very  good  to  be  back  again  and  see  all 
the  dear  old  things."  He  nodded  at  the  general 
confusion.  "  You  don't  know  how  /  think  of  them 
when  I'm  out  there." 

"  But  you  don't  hate  being  out  there  ?  " 

"  No.  Because  I'm  in  the  right  place.  It's  my 
duty  to  be  there.  I  should  hate  myself  if  I  were 
not  there.  You  wouldn't  have  me  anywhere  else, 
would  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Little  Yeogh  Wough,  I  wouldn't  have  you 
anywhere  else.  I  couldn't  have  the  boy  who  has 
been  the  pride  of  my  life  anywhere  else  now  but  in 
the  fighting  line.  I  am  so  proud  of  you,  because  I 
know  you  are  a  splendid  soldier.  To  be  adjutant 
at  your  age — why,  it's  wonderful !  " 

He  glanced  half  backward  at  me,  smiling.  Some- 
thing in  his  eye  startled  me. 

"  Roland !  Do  you  know  that  you  looked 
almost  wild  at  that  moment  ?  " 

"  Did    I  ?      I'm    sorry.      I'm    afraid    I've    un- 


208  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

learned  a  lot  of  civilisation.  I've  thrown  over  a 
lot  of  prejudices,  too.  I've  come  to  have  a  great 
respect  for  the  Colonials.  I  always  did  think  a 
heap  of  the  Canadians,  but  still  not  enough.  And 
I  used  to  think  the  Australians  a  touchy  people, 
but  now  I  know  they're  not.  Oh,  I'm  a  different 
boy  in  some  ways  from  the  boy  who  went  out. 
Big  Yeogh  Wough  !  .  .  .  What  have  you  been 
writing  out  those  lines  of  Laurence  Binyon's  for  ?  " 

He  had  caught  sight  of  my  large  black  hand- 
writing on  a  sheet  of  paper  lying  on  his  table. 

"Oh,  those  lines  from  the  '  Dirge  for  the  Dead  '  ? 
I  copied  them  out  of  your  book  this  morning  to 
send  in  to  Mrs.  Orme,  to  comfort  her  about  poor 
Harry.    I  forgot  them." 

Little  Yeogh  Wough  read  the  lines  aloud,  very 
softly : 

"  They  shall  not  grow  old,  as  we  that  are  left  grow  old, 
Age  shall  not  weary  them,  nor  the  years  condemn. 
At  the  going  down  of  the  sun  and  in  the  morning 
We  will  remember  them " 

I  slipped  to  my  knees  beside  him  and  laid  my 
head  against  his  shoulder. 

"  Would  they  comfort  you  if  I  were  to  be 
killed  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'  Yes,  they  would — as  much  as  anything  could." 

His  eyes  looked  into  mine  curiously. 

"  What  will  you  think  in  the  years  to  conie  if  I 
go  down  in  this  war.  Big  Yeogh  Wough  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  think  ?    Well,  first  of  all,  I  shall 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT        209 

be  proud.  I  shall  honour  you  very  much — more 
than  if  you  had  lived  to  make  yourself  a  king. 
But,  just  because  you  are  you,  I  shall  think  it  is  a 
waste  unless  you  get  your  death  in  doing  a  little 
more  than  an  ordinary  man  would  do.  Look  at 
your  muscular  body  !  I've  thought  of  the  wonder 
of  it  ever  since  the  day  when  I  first  saw  you  boxing. 
What's  the  good  of  it  in  this  war  ?  It's  no  more 
good  to  resist  flying  bullets  or  shell  splinters  than 
an  old  tottering  man's  body.  That's  where  I 
should  feel  bitter.  These  times  are  women's 
times  and  this  war  of  machinery  might  as  well  be 
carried  on  by  women,  for  all  the  good  that  male 
muscle  can  do  in  it.  And  yet  they  go  and  take 
the  pick  of  the  boys  and  let  a  stray  bit  of  shell 
finish  off  in  a  second  a  splendid  human  creature 
whose  mind  might  have  been  the  driving  force  of 
the  nation  in  a  few  years  to  come  !  That's  where 
the  pity  of  it  would  be  if  anything  happened  to 
you." 

"But  nothing  is  going  to  happen  to  me.  You 
forget  my  lucky  lock." 

He  lifted  my  hand  and  guided  it  to  the  curious 
little  white  patch  at  the  side  of  his  cropped  head. 

"  You  forget,  too,  that  the  fellow  at  school  who 
knew  all  about  palmistry  told  me  he  was  sure  I 
was  not  going  to  get  killed  till  I  was  close  on  sixty. 
So,  you  see,  I  shall  be  quite  safe  in  this  war. 
They're  not  likely  to  add  one  more  to  the  noonday 
strokes  of  the  old  School  bell  for  me." 


210  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

"  The  strokes  of  the  old  School  bell  ?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Haven't  you  heard  ?  The  School  bell 
tolls  once  at  noon  every  day  for  every  Old  Boy 
who  has  lost  his  life  in  this  war.  They've  got  up  to 
fifty-two  strokes  already  and  it's  sure  to  go  mount- 
ing up  now  by  leaps  and  bounds.  There  are  so 
many  of  us  out  there  fighting." 

Again  I  was  struck  by  his  tired-out  look.  I  drew 
myself  from  his  hold  and  got  up  from  my  knees. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed  now,"  I  told  him.  "  I 
will  go  away  for  ten  minutes  and  when  I  come  back 
I  must  find  you  in  bed." 

He  obeyed  me  as  he  had  obeyed  me  when  he 
was  a  child.  I  heard  a  great  noise  of  shutting 
doors  and  drawers  and  box  lids,  and  when  I  went  in, 
exactly  at  the  end  of  the  ten  minutes,  he  was 
lying  between  the  sheets,  luxuriously  stretched 
out. 

"  Oh,  the  joy  of  being  in  a  real  bed  again  ! 
I  expect  I  shall  sleep  till  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock 
to-morrow.  Then  I  shall  have  the  rest  of  the  day 
with  you  and  shall  go  up  to  town  and  meet  Vera 
Brennan  next  day ;  that  is,  if  she  can  come  up 
from  her  home.  I  want  to  buy  a  dagger,  too,  for 
hand-to-hand  work  in  the  trenches,  and  a  few  other 
things." 

*'  Oughtn't  you  to  have  sent  Vera  a  telegram 
to-night  ?  " 

"No.     To-morrow  will  do.     Oh,  by  the  way, 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         211 

Big  Yeogh  Wough,  have  you  got  any  new  clothes 
to  show  me  ?  " 

"  No."  I  laughed  as  I  shook  my  head.  "  I 
couldn't  have  afforded  them  now  in  war  time, 
even  if  I'd  wanted  them — and  I  haven't  felt  I 
wanted  them  with  you  away  and  in  danger." 

He  drew  my  hand  into  his,  and  I  stayed  beside 
him  with  my  head  resting  on  his  pillow,  until  he 
had  fallen  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

How  boyish  his  face  looked  as  he  slept !  and  as 
I  drew  my  hand  from  his  and  moved  away  from 
his  bedside,  turning  off  the  electric  light  and 
leaving  him  in  a  full  flood  of  August  moon  radiance, 
I  could  have  fancied  that  I  heard  voices  singing 
softly  in  the  air  around  me : 

"  They  shall  not  grow  old,  as  we  that  are  left  grow  old  " — 

I  stole  back  and  kissed  his  hair.  Oh,  human 
love  !  why  must  it  be  always  pain — pain — pain  ? 

He  was  his  old  bright  self  again  next  day,  when, 
having  walked  with  us  all,  he  lay  across  my  bed 
and  laughed  as  he  read  me  little  French  fairy 
stories  while  I  put  things  straight  in  the  room. 

*'  It's  like  the  old  days,  isn't  it,  when  you  used 
to  lie  across  my  bed  and  I  taught  you  French 
while  I  brushed  my  hair  ?  That  reminds  me  that 
I  met  an  officer  last  week  who  said  he'd  heard  you 
were  amazingly  good  at  getting  what  you  wanted 
out  of  the  French  farmer  people  round  about  you. 


212  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

He  was  a  man  of  quite  thirty-five,  by  the  way,  and  I 
asked  him  if  he  didn't  think  he  ought  to  marry 
before  he  went  back  to  the  Front.  And  what  do 
you  think  he  answered  me  ?  He  rubbed  his  fingers 
through  his  hair,  and  reddened  and  said:  'Well, 
I*ve  always  been  fonder  of  outdoor  amusements.' 
So,  you  see,  falling  in  love  and  getting  married 
are  indoor  amusements.  I  suppose  they  are, 
really — only  it  sounded  very  funny." 

"  Oh,  by  the  way.  Big  Yeogh  Wough,  can't  you 
telephone  up  North  to  Vera  Brennan's  people 
to-morrow  and  ask  them  to  let  her  come  here  till 
Monday  ?  Say  you'll  be  going  up  yourself  with 
her  and  me  on  Monday." 

"  Are  you  getting  fonder  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  shan't  know  till  I  see  her 
again.  There's  only  one  thing  I  do  know  and  that 
is  that  absence  never  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder. 
I  should  like  to  ram  that  proverb  down  the  throat 
of  the  man  who  invented  it." 

So  the  girl  with  the  amethyst  eyes  came  down 
to  our  house  by  the  eastern  sea. 

There  was  only  Sunday  for  her,  since  she  came 
late  on  Saturday  evening  and  we  were  all  going  up 
to  London  on  Monday  morning.  But  that  Sunday 
was  enjoyed  to  the  uttermost. 

It  was  so  strange  to  see  Little  Yeogh  Wough 
with  her  !  No  wonder  his  sister  and  his  young 
brother  looked  on  in  frank  bewilderment,  remem- 
bering that  he  had  been  simply  a  masterful  school- 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT        213 

boy  until  the  time  of  his  putting  on  together  of 
khaki  and  a  moustache  ! 

What  a  forcing  power  this  war  is  !  It  changes 
people's  ages  as  it  changes  their  addresses,  and 
that  is  saying  a  great  deal. 

At  twelve  o'clock  that  night  I  rose  from  the 
big  old  sofa  where  I  had  been  sitting  with  the 
Boy  and  Vera  Brennan,  and  said  to  them  both  : 

"  It  is  time  we  all  went  to  bed  now.  That  early 
train  in  the  morning  is  really  very  inconveniently 
early,  as  you  will  find  out." 

The  two  of  them  looked  at  me  and  then  at  each 
other.    Then  the  Boy  laughed. 

"  You  know,  Vera,  it's  not  a  bit  late  for  us  in 
this  house.  Two  o'clock  is  more  like  our  time. 
But  I'll  go  to  bed,  anyhow,  and  you  can  stay  here 
and  say  what  you  want  to  say." 

He  was  gone  before  I  could  say  a  word.  And  I 
was  left  alone  with  the  girl  with  the  amethyst 
eyes. 

I  got  up  from  the  sofa  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room.  It  was  a  handsome  room,  large,  many- 
windowed  and  high,  but  strangely  gloomy.  The 
electric  light  was  so  heavily  shaded  that  there 
were  grim  corners.  One  might  have  thought 
that  the  wings  of  the  Dark  Angel  hovered  in  the 
recesses,  as  he  waited — waited — waited.  And, 
though  the  month  was  August,  there  came  up  from 
the  sea,  hardly  more  than  a  stone' s-throw  away,  a 
sobbing  that  had  something  so  much  like  human 


214  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

grief  in  it  that  it  made  one  understand  how  it 
was  that  in  the  ominous  spring  of  1914  the 
village  people  of  Russia  kept  on  saying  that  they 
heard  the  earth  crying  and  that  there  would  be 
war. 

Vera  Brennan's  small  head  had  sunk  lower 
and  lower.  She  spoke  to  me  without  looking 
at  me  : 

"  You  know  I  love  Roland,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  her.  "  I  know  you  love 
him." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said  almost  piteously. 
"  I  never  loved  anyone  before.  I  never  thought 
I  should  love  anyone  at  all.  My  mind  was  all  on 
other  things.  But  he  woke  me  up.  I  loved  him 
directly  I  saw  him  and  heard  him  speak.  Of 
course,  I  know  he's  very  young,  but  with  him  age 
doesn't  seem  to  matter.  He's  a  grown  man  in  his 
mind  and  heart.  He's  everything  to  me  now — 
everything." 

I  said  nothing,  but  kept  on  walking  up  and  down 
the  room.  She  went  on,  more  and  more  appeal- 
ingly  : 

"  He  knows  I'm  saying  all  this  to  you.  You  see, 
he's  told  me  all  about  you.  He  said  that  if  I  loved 
him  I  must  love  you,  too,  because  you  and  he  were 
like  one  life.  And  that  is  why  I  want  to  say  this 
to  you — that  I  love  him  so  very  much  that  I  want 
to  think  of  him  more  than  of  myself — that,  if 
you  think  it  would  be  better  for  him  that  I  should 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         215 

give  him  up  and  all  my  own  life's  happiness  with 
him,  I  can  do  it  and  I  will  do  it.  Yes,  I  will  find 
strength  to  do  it — if  you  say  I  must." 

She  had  stretched  out  her  arms  towards  me  from 
the  deeper  gloom  in  which  she  sat.  And  suddenly 
I  realised,  that,  small  and  flowerlike  and  fragile 
though  she  was,  she  was  not  a  girl  who  was  going 
to  take  my  treasure  from  me,  but  a  woman  who 
was  asking  me  to  let  her  share  with  me  the  pride 
and  the  anguish  of  living  under  the  black  shadow 
of  Fear  that  had  darkened  my  life  for  four  months 
past. 

I  turned  and  went  to  her  quickly  and  sat  down 
on  the  sofa  beside  her  and  took  her  into  my  arms. 
We  did  not  speak  a  word,  but  we  stayed  there  like 
that  for  a  long,  long  time — until  the  Boy's  voice 
suddenly  startled  us  : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  all  this  time  ?  It's 
three  o'clock.    You  will  both  be  ill." 

"  Roland !  I  thought  you  were  in  bed  and 
asleep." 

"  No.  I  tried  to  lie  down,  but  I  couldn't.  I've 
been  walking  up  and  down  the  corridor." 

He  was  stooping  over  us  both,  drawing  us  up. 
His  boyish  face  had  become  suddenly  the  face  of 
a  man,  his  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  man,  and  his 
touch  and  his  manner  had  a  man's  power  and 
a  man's  dignity. 

It  was  nearly  four  oclock  when  I  went  to  say 
good-night  to  him. 


216  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

The  next  day  in  London  was  like  a  dream  in 
which  things  happened  with  the  speed  of  flashes. 
It  was  only  at  midnight  that  the  Boy  and  I 
got  any  private  talk  together.  His  room  adjoined 
mine  at  the  hotel  where  we  were  staying  for  the 
night,  and  he  came  in  to  me  to  bring  me  an  offer- 
ing of  sulphur  carnations  and  to  show  me  the 
dagger  he  had  bought  and  his  miraculously  tiny 
medical  outfit. 

*'  Why  were  you  so  late  for  the  dinner  ?  "  I 
asked  him.  For  he  and  I  had  had  a  dinner  engage- 
ment and  he  had  kept  dinner  waiting  for  at  least 
an  hour. 

'*  I  didn't  feel  I  could  go  anywhere  and  smile 
and  talk  to  people  who  didn't  understand,  just 
after  seeing  Vera  off  at  Euston.  I  should  have 
liked  to  come  straight  back  to  you  and  talk  to 
you  quietly  all  the  evening.  Look  here,  let  me 
fasten  these  carnations  on  you  where  I  want  you 
to  wear  them,  just  as  I,  used  to  do  before  the 
war !  " 

"But  I  shall  be  going  to  bed  in  half  an 
hour !  " 

"  That  doesn't  matter.  It's  worth  while  for 
you  to  wear  them  for  half  an  hour.  Tell  me  what 
you  think  of  the  dagger.  It's  for  hand-to-hand 
work  in  the  trenches,  where  there  isn't  room  to 
use  a  bayonet." 

"  Ah  !  "  I  took  the  newly  bought  thing  in  my 
hand  and  looked  at  it.    "  When  it's  done  its  work 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         217 

bring  it  back  to  me  without  cleaning  it.  I  shall 
want  to  keep  it  always  like  that." 

"  And  here's  my  little  medicine  chest.  Don't 
they  make  things  up  splendidly  ?  Here's  some 
morphia.  You  see,  many  a  fellow  that's  not  very 
badly  wounded  does  himself  a  lot  of  harm  by 
wriggling  about  in  his  pain  before  he's  picked  up. 
Now,  if  you've  got  morphia,  you  can  make  the 
pain  bearable  and  keep  quiet." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  quite  brightly.  But  I  felt  curi- 
ously sick  at  heart. 

"  Do  you  still  feel  you  would  rather  I  did  not 
come  to  Victoria  to  see  you  off  to-morrow  ?  "  I 
asked  him  when  we  said  good- night. 

"  Yes.  I  don't  feel  I  could  stand  it.  You  know, 
I've  always  been  like  that.  I've  never  wanted 
people  who  really  mattered  to  see  me  off  at  a  sta- 
tion. Other  people  don't  count.  They  can  come 
in  crowds.  But  not  you.  It'll  be  hard  enough  to 
go,  anyhow." 

"  Very  well,  then,  we'll  have  lunch  at  Almond's, 
with  that  dear  Russian  friend  I  want  to  show  you 
off  to,  and  then  you  can  do  the  rest  of  your  shopping 
while  I  go  and  keep  a  business  appointment  in 
Farringdon  Street.  I  shall  be  back  here  to  say 
good-bye  to  you  at  four  o'clock." 

But  the  business  appointment  next  day  in  Far- 
ringdon Street  kept  me  longer  than  I  had  expected 
it  would  do  and  when  I  came  out  I  could  not  get 
a   taxicab    easily.      Agitated,    desperate,    I    had 


218  BOY  OF  MY  HEART 

almost  run  well  on  to  the  Embankment  before  I 
picked  one  up  and  then  I  dashed  up  to  the  hotel 
steps  to  find  the  boy  jumping  in  and  out  of  his  own 
cab  with  a  harassed  look  on  his  face. 

"  If  I  stay  another  minute  I  shall  be  too  late," 
he  said. 

There  was  no  time  for  me  to  explain.  One 
moment's  clasp  of  hands — one  quick,  yet  clinging, 
kiss — and  he  was  gone  ! 

Gone  from  me  again — back  to  fight  in  France  ! 

I  stood  looking  straight  before  me  with  an  odd 
feeling  as  if  I  were  turning  to  stone.  Why  had  I 
not  thought  of  getting  into  the  cab  and  driving 
to  Victoria  with  him,  without  going  on  to  the 
platform  ? 

What  a  miserable  good-bye  I  had  had — I,  who 
should  have  had  the  tenderest ! 

Yesterday  morning,  when  we  had  left  home, 
his  good-bye  to  his  sister  and  to  the  naval  cadet 
had  been  sweet.  He  had  leaned  out  of  the  railway 
carriage  window  looking  with  misty  eyes  at  his 
father  still  standing  on  the  platform  of  the  East 
Coast  town  station,  and  had  said  to  Vera  and 
to  me: 

"  Dear  father  !  I  haven't  been  half  good  enough 
to  him." 

And  I — I  had  had  to  part  from  him,  through  no 
fault  of  his  or  mine,  as  if  we  were  going  to  meet 
again  in  a  few  hours  I 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         219 

It  is  strange  how  vividly  all  these  pictures  of 
his  whole  past  life  have  flashed  across  my  mind 
again  as  I  have  been  sitting  here  waiting  for 
him  ! 

It  is  four  months  since  he  went  away  that  day 
after  only  that  quick,  unsatisfying  kiss. 

"  I  will  take  care  to  have  a  better  good-bye 
when  this  second  leave  is  over,"  I  told  myself 
aloud.  "  Only  six  days,  including  the  travelling ! 
But  I  don't  suppose  they  can  spare  the  officers 
for  any  longer." 


He  is  certainly  very  late.  It  is  beginning  to 
look  as  if  he  will  not  come  till  to-morrow  morning. 
The  weather  may  be  bad  in  the  Channel.  Any- 
how, we  shall  have  to  go  on  with  dinner. 

I  hear  a  noise  of  the  opening  and  shutting  of 
doors. 

I  start  to  my  feet. 

This  is  he  !    This  must  be  he  ! 

But  two  or  three  moments  pass  and  he  does  not 
come  into  the  room.  And  something  new  and 
strange  and  heavy  has  come  into  the  air  of  the 
house ;  or  so,  at  least,  I  fancy. 

My  husband  comes  along.  There  is  something 
very  odd  about  his  step.  And  his  face  looks 
changed,  somehow ;  sharpened  in  feature  and 
greyish  white. 

*'  How  true  it  is  that  electric  light  sometimes 


220  BOY  OF  IMY  HEART 

makes  people  look  a  dreadful  colour  !  "   I  think 
as  he  comes  nearer  to  me. 

I  ran  forward  then  to  meet  him. 

"  Where  is  Roland  ?  Isn't  he  here  ?  I  thought 
I  heard  him  come." 

And  then  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  that  the 
boy's  father  had  a  bit  of  pinkish  paper  crushed  up 
in  his  hand. 

"  Is  that  a  telegram  ?  "  I  cried  eagerly,  putting 
out  my  own  hand.  "Oh,  give  it  to  me  !  What 
does  it  say  ?    Isn't  he  coming  to-night  ?  " 

One  of  my  husband's  arms  was  put  quietly 
around  me. 

"  No.  It's  no  good  our  waiting  for  him  any 
longer.  He'll  never  come  any  more.  He's  dead. 
He  was  badly  wounded  on  Wednesday  at  mid- 
night, and  he  died  on  Thursday." 

For  minutes  that  were  like  years  the  world 
became  to  me  a  shapeless  horror  of  greyness  in 
which  there  was  no  beginning  and  no  end,  no  light 
and  no  sound.  I  did  not  know  anything  except 
that  I  had  to  put  out  my  hand  and  catch  at 
something,  with  an  animal  instinct  to  steady 
myself  so  that  I  might  not  fall.  And  then, 
through  the  rolling,  blinding  waves  of  mist,  there 
came  to  me  suddenly  the  old  childish  cry  : 

"  Come  and  see  me  in  bed,  mother  !  " 

And  I  heard  myself  answering  aloud : 

"  Yes,  boy  of  my  heart,  I  will  come.    As  soon 


THE  SECOND  GERMAN  GIFT         221 

as  the  war  is  over  I  will  come  and  see  you  in  bed — 
in  your  bed  under  French  grass.  And  I  will  say 
good- night  to  you — there — kneeling  by  your  side — 
as  I've  always  done.'* 

"  Good-night ! 
Though  Life  and  all  take  flight. 
Never  Qood-bye  !  " 


THE   END 


PRINTED    BY 
BRENDON   ANU  SON,   LTD 
K.TMOUTH.   BNGLAND 


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